


Tonight, The World Dies

by ZombifyMeCapn



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Eventual Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Shy Daryl, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-27 13:27:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 47,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10022588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombifyMeCapn/pseuds/ZombifyMeCapn
Summary: So this is a story I have posted elsewhere. I decided I'd try it out here and see how it does. Chapters are a little shorter than I usually write, so you guys will just have to deal!





	1. Strangers.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a story I have posted elsewhere. I decided I'd try it out here and see how it does. Chapters are a little shorter than I usually write, so you guys will just have to deal!

The sunlight dapples the forest floor as I kneel beside the small creek, uncapping my water bottle and filling it to the brim. I’ll boil it later, once the sun has set. For now, while I still have daylight, I glance around out of habit, making sure that I am well and truly alone before tugging my long-sleeved shirt over my head. The duct tape wrapped around my sleeves makes the process a little more difficult, but once it’s off, I dunk the entire garment in the creek and scrub. The creek water turns murky as layers of mud, grime, sweat, and blood are washed away downstream. I hadn’t been fortunate enough to find a replacement, and so this shirt is all I have. I get a small whiff of myself and cringe, thinking I could do with a good scrubbing as well, but I know it’s getting late. I ring the shirt of as much moisture as I can before throwing it back on. The wet fabric clings to me uncomfortably as I toss my water bottle into my pack and rise.

I head back towards the church, pausing a moment to fire a silenced shot at a rabbit scurrying across my path. It skids in the leaves, the bullet creating a small hole in its head. I carry it by its back legs and continue on. Rabbits don’t provide much meat, but the stores in the church are getting low. I break away from the trees outside the church and pause. Someone stands outside the church, a dark figure with a crossbow in his hands. He walks the length of the church and turns, freezes when his eyes lock on me. In defense I hold up my hands, and I hear him call for someone inside the church. Shortly, more people flood the front yard of the church, and apprehension settles in my gut as I step forward slowly. A man in a priest’s uniform appears, and I narrow my eyes.

“Gone for an hour and you’ve let the rest of the world in?” I ask Gabriel. He has the nerve to look sheepish, while the group crowded around him exchange confused looks. A man with a hell of a beard and bright blue eyes turns towards Gabriel.

“You know her?” His accent is distinctly southern, maybe Georgia or Louisiana. Gabriel nods.

“Candace came to me about a month ago pretty heavily injured. I helped her recover as best as I could, and I offered her sanctuary here,” he explains. More eyes turn to me, and I take a moment to examine each and every one of them, starting with the man with the crossbow.

He’s leering something fierce, and I’m not quite sure if it’s because of me or if that’s just how he always looks. Either way, I level him with my own hard stare before moving on. A young Asian man holds a pretty woman with short brown hair in his arms, almost protectively; they are both watching me intently. A quartet of fierce-looking individuals, led by a mountain of a man with flaming red hair and a serious mustache who narrows his eyes as well. He has a large shotgun in his hands. Two women flank him, one of them looking military. The other just looks lost. A teenaged boy stands just behind the man with the beard, and it doesn’t take long for my mind to make the connection that this is his son. Meanwhile, the man with the beard is glaring terribly at me, his blue eyes blazing with suspicion and distrust.

“This is Rick and his group,” Gabriel tells me, trying to relieve the obvious tension. “I got trapped by the dead and they saved me. I’ve asked them to stay.”

I hum before holding up the rabbit. “I’m going to take care of this.”

I brush by the group, feeling more than seeing them turn like a flock of flamingos to watch me leave. Behind the church I set to dressing the rabbit and frown when I pull even less meat than I was expecting from the bones. As I work my mind flits to the group Gabriel has asked to stay. They’re a rough crowd, dirty, thin, and haggard. No doubt they’ve seen and done some terrible things to survive. Who hasn’t these days? Besides Gabriel, there hasn’t been a single soul I’ve met that hasn’t had to cross his or her own moral lines in the sand to ensure his or her own safety—mine included. The ringleader of the group—Rick, Gabriel said—looks especially wild, about a step above caveman with his wild-eyed look and that insane beard. I admit to myself that he intimidates me just a little more than the rest of the group, even the crossbow-wielder. Despite their group including young women, I know appearances are not always to be trusted. I’ve seen and known women in this new world who are just as cold and heartless as the worst male serial killers.

Women, to me, are more dangerous, and it is for that reason that I am unable to relax while in the presence of this new group, even when we are all gathered inside the church, Gabriel and I off to the side outside their circle. The group, save the man with the crossbow, are laughing and eating the proffered food from our stores, as well as bits of the rabbit I caught. The group almost looks innocent in this setting—joking, smiling, relaxing. But I can’t find it in me to do the same. Gabriel, however, smiles right along with them, as if he’s in on their little jokes.

I scrape what’s left of the beans out of the bottom of the can and chew slowly, allowing my eyes to take in the group. Rick has a baby in his arms, a chubby, wriggling little thing named Judith. I frown. She must have been born at the end of the world, so where is her mother? While the women of the group all seem to take on that role together, none of them stick out to me as her biological mother. I drop my spoon into the can and set it beside me, sitting back against the side of my designated pew, watching. The big man with the mustache, Abraham, is prattling on about some mission to Washington, DC to find a cure to this mess. The man sitting to his left, Eugene, rocks a killer mullet and a cool, arrogant expression. I bite back a scoff, hardly believing that [i]this[/i] man, of all the people left in the world, knows the secret to putting the dead down for good.

Suddenly the hairs on my arms rise and a prickling feeling crawls up the back of my neck. Slowly, I look around until my gaze lands on the man with the crossbow, standing outside the circle by the door. He’s watching me as intently as I’m watching his group, and his stance ekes protectiveness. I can’t see his eyes beneath that dark, greasy mane of his, but I know he catches me watching and turns his head away as the woman with the short grey hair—Carol, I think—walks up to him with two empty jugs of water, and they leave.

He’s another of this ragtag group that I find myself wary of. A darkness shrouds him, and he did not partake in his group’s merriment. I find myself watching the door for their return, but as night falls, he and the woman do not return.

A body settles beside me, and I glance over at Rick. He is watching me, his bright blue eyes stark against the tan on his face and that massive, wild beard. He rests his elbows on his bent knees and examines me.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” he asks, his voice rough and southern.

“Prefer to watch,” I mutter, my gaze sweeping the now sleeping bodies. I purse my lips before speaking again. “Your people took off. You just let everyone wander off like that?”

To my surprise, Rick smirks, though his eyes are far from amused. “Daryl and Carol can handle themselves. They’ve been through too much—we all have.”

“Your beard kind of told me that,” I reply before I can catch myself. Then Rick smiles, chuckling, and his eyes light up. The shade of them is intriguing, to be completely honest. He runs a hand over the coarse hair on his chin.

“It is getting kind of cavemanish,” he agrees. He turns those blue eyes back to me. “You’re not as cold as you make yourself out to be.”

“No offense, Rick, but you ain’t known me but a day. I don’t think you’re in a position to say something like that.” I hope my tone comes off as intimidating and cold, but I don’t think it quite hits its mark.

“Call it a hunch, but I’ve met bad people. And you and Gabriel, you’re not bad people. In the morning, we’re all going to Washington. Might be in your best interest to come with us. I’ve already discussed it with your friend.”

“Gabriel’s not really my friend,” I mutter, but Rick doesn’t seem to hear it.

“Think it over, sleep on it, and let me know in the morning.” With that, he stands up and walks off with his offer hanging between us.


	2. Ambush.

I play with my fingers as I turn Rick’s offer over in my head. Ignoring Gabriel for a moment, I don’t know these people, and I certainly don’t trust them. It rubs me wrong that Rick would come forward so quickly with an offer of a place in his group. Not only have I not spoken to anyone aside from Rick, I have given these people no reason to trust me—and vice versa. Automatically my mind starts conjuring up ulterior motives Rick may have for asking Gabriel and I to come along, but ultimately I come up with nothing. We have hardly any food left, and all I have for weapons are my handgun and silencer and a hatchet. I have spare bullets, but not nearly enough as I’d like to have.

Sasha, a tall, sleek woman with dark skin, flitters around the group, calling out a name. She passes by me, asking if I’ve seen a man named Bob. I shake my head, not having any clue who this Bob character is. She steps outside and does not come back in for a few moments. When she does, she’s in a panic, and even though I don’t know or trust these people, I shoot to my feet and follow her outside. A man is in an unconscious heap on the ground, and I immediately feel panic shoot through my veins, sending my heart racing. His leg is missing from the knee down, a clean slice that tells me someone had cut it off.

I help Sasha carry the man, who I’ve now learned is the missing man, Bob, into the church towards the office at the back of the building. The others are in a whirlwind of activity, firing questions at Rick so quickly I imagine he must have whiplash. As Sasha and I enter the room, I hear him call out for silence so he can think. Bob is sweating, his leg looks to have been cauterized, but by whom?

Bob stirs on the bench and his eyes flutter open heavily. “Sasha,” he murmurs hoarsely. The woman is by his side with his clammy hand in hers. “This was them.” A sudden realization forces me to step back a little, mind reeling.

After making sure Sasha has everything handled, I sweep from the room, feeling a sudden surge of anger towards this group. Rick is pacing along the stained glass windows, a hand in his curly dark hair. He turns when he sees me storming up to him, and his body posture switches to one of defense.

“You got somethin’ you forgot to tell us?” I seethe. Rick’s jaw clenches beneath his beard. “Is there someone after you? Someone cut off his leg and dumped him outside for you to find. Someone knows you’re here and is following you. And you didn’t think to let us know?”

“First of all, I’m going to need you to calm down,” he starts, and I instantly wonder if he was a cop in a previous life. His eyes turn icy. “Second, yes, we know who did this. But we had no idea they were even still alive, much less following and watching us.”

My curiosity spikes, along with a dire need to know just who the hell we were dealing with. I demand Rick to tell me everything, and by the end, I am back to seething in rage. Rick and his group have led a group of goddamn cannibals right to Gabriel and me. Rick watches as I turn away to start pacing, a hand clenched tightly in my hair. To my own surprise, I believe him when he says they didn’t know they were alive, but I am still too blown away by the fact that a man in the church had his leg cut off and eaten.

“I know you don’t know us, and you don’t trust us.” Rick takes a tentative step forward and holds out his hand, as if to calm me. I’ll admit it kind of does. “But we don’t know how many of them are still alive, and we can use all the help we can get in dealing with them.” By the tone in his voice, I easily determine what he means by [i]dealing with them[/i], and oddly, the thought doesn’t bother me. I give a small, almost imperceptible nod at Rick, and I can physically see his shoulders relax. He turns towards his group, who are still in a panic.

“Listen up! This was the Terminites,” Rick starts, and the expressions on the faces before me contort in rage and fear. “They attacked Bob, so we know they’ve been watching us. We don’t know how many of them are still alive, so we have to be smart about this. I’ve got an idea but I’m not sure how successful it will be. Gather round.”

Rick dives into his plan for getting rid of the people hunting us and I can’t help but think that it’s a smart plan and that it just might work. Gabriel stays behind with Rick’s children and Michonne, the dark-skinned woman with the katana, while the rest of our group heads off into the woods in search of the Terminites. We take up a vantage point far enough away from the church and we wait.

I have my hatchet in my hands, fingers curled tightly until my knuckles turn white. Beside me kneels Abraham. To my left is Rick, and the others wait behind, hidden in the dark by an outcropping of rocks. Through the trees we make out a number of figures—I count eight—as they head towards the church, just shadows against the navy blanket of sky. They file into the church one by one and they leave the door open. Now is our chance.

Swiftly and silently we creep back towards the church, and one raised voice calls out to us from inside the church. Rick makes motions with his hands to have us spread out and then he looks to me. I nod. I am with him. Together we move silently into the church, where the Terminites are searching. A lone man stands at the altar, his voice urging Rick to make his appearance. I keep to the shadows in the corner while Rick straightens and calls out to the man.

They exchange words that I cannot hear due to the sudden rushing of blood in my ears. My heart races beneath my rib cage, threatening to jump from my chest. My hand tightens on my weapon as I hear the others quietly enter the church, and I home in on a single Terminite, a woman with short, choppy hair. I creep behind her as Rick stands in front of the leader, a man I hear him call Gareth. The woman is not expecting me, and so she starts as I wrap my arm around her neck and hold the blade of my hatchet to her throat. The others do the same with their charges, until we have all of these people at knifepoint.

Rick moves first against Gareth, and it quickly becomes a bloodbath. Sounds of struggling, of dying breaths, fill the church as the woman in my arms struggles and breaks free of my grip. She turns wild eyes on me, drawing an impressively large knife from the sheath at her thigh. My hatchet is raised and ready, and I know the others are carefully watching as the woman and I step carefully around one another. Out of the corner of my eye, Rick is hacking away at what remains of Gareth with a machete, his face, beard, and clothes stained with blood. I keep my focus on the woman until she makes the first move.

I dodge her blade and the butt of my hatchet collides hard with her back, throwing her off balance and knocking the wind from her. She stumbles into the pews and uses them for leverage, pushing off to come at me again. My hatchet blocks her knife and I swiftly bring a foot up and press it against her abdomen and shove her backwards. She lands on her ass, her arms flailing, and the knife skitters across the floor. Her eyes have suddenly changed from angry to fearful as she realizes her life is about to end.

“Please,” she begs, “we weren’t always this way. We did what we needed to survive.” I can empathize with her—we’ve all done bad things—but so long as she lives a threat remains.

The hatchet is heavy in my hand as I raise it over my head and bring it down to cleave her skull. The sickening crunch is oddly satisfying, and her eyes are still open but lifeless. The blade is stuck in bone and brain matter, and it takes a great deal of effort for me to free it. When I do, I shake the hatchet of blood, and it paints the wall beside me. The others are breathing hard, and Gabriel has emerged from the office with Carl, who is holding Judith, and Michonne. The priest looks around at the carnage, horror clear on his features. He crosses himself and looks to the ceiling and I have to stop myself from scowling.


	3. Rescue.

The cleanup is messy, and the bodies leave a wide bloody trail out of the church. We don’t bury them. Instead, we deposit them into the woods for animals to pick at. The entire ordeal has my back aching in pain, and when we return to the church for the final time, I see Abraham, Maggie, Glenn, Eugene, Tara, and Rosita stepping outside, their packs in their hands as they make for the bus Abe’s been working on. Rick has expressed his refusal to leave for Washington without Daryl and Carol, and a frown creases his forehead as he steps up to them. The group bids their goodbyes, and I am briefly torn as Abraham gets behind the wheel of the bus. If I am to leave, my time is now, and yet I can’t make my feet move.

I choose to stay. The bus rumbles away, kicking up dust, and disappears. I turn to head back into the church, and in the daylight, the bloody floor is vibrant. Gabriel is kneeling at the altar, praying, and the others sit around, sadly replaying the splitting of their group. I lean against the wall, bathed in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Michonne brushes by me, seeming to need to distance herself from the dejected atmosphere inside the church. I decide to join her. The day is warm and humid, but I prefer it to the heavy air in the building. No words are exchanged between Michonne and me, not like I would know what to say anyways.

A sudden snap of a twig in the trees puts us both on alert, our spines stiff. Michonne’s hand goes to the handle of her katana, and I reach for my bloody hatchet. A silent exchange passes between us as we tiptoe to the edge of the forest, waiting for whatever is out there to reveal itself. It doesn’t take long, and Michonne visibly relaxes and smiles when Daryl steps out of the cover of the forest. But her eyes flicker over his shoulder and her smile drops.

“Carol?” she asks, her voice like warm honey. Daryl chews his cheek for a moment, giving me a fleeting look, before he turns towards the woods and beckons out whoever is behind him.

A dark-skinned youth appears then, and that’s all. Carol is nowhere in sight and Michonne is the first to question him over it. Instead of replying, Daryl jerks his chin in the direction of the church, and the three of us head back. Rick turns as the doors open, and relief is evident on his face before being replaced with a worry similar to Michonne’s.

“Beth’s alive, so is Carol. They’re at Grady Memorial Hospital. We found one of the cars that took Beth, the one with the white cross on it. We followed it into Atlanta, but Carol, she…she got hit by one of their cars—a cop car. Ran into Noah. He got out. He knows Beth, says he can get us in so we can get her back,” Daryl explained gruffly. My eyes bounce to Rick, who already seems to be formulating a plan in his head.

In the end, Rick, Daryl, Sasha, her brother Tyreese, and Noah, the youth who accompanied Daryl, are the ones to go back to Atlanta in a rescue mission to get Beth back. I sit with my back against a pew on the floor, watching Carl feed Judith. Michonne paces anxiously; Father Gabriel is nowhere to be seen. Despite my feelings towards this group, I can’t help but feel anxious right alongside Michonne. I’d never ventured into the city, but I know it went south fast. Just knowing these people a day tells me they are smart and won’t go in half-cocked. Rick has a plan, and they will be successful in retrieving Beth.

It is hours before Father Gabriel returns, and another hour after that that the unmistakable noise of groaning makes us all stand. The dead have followed Gabriel; from where, I’m not sure, and I’m not inclined to ask. Instinct moves my feet to get Michonne, Carl, Judith, and Gabriel into the back office. I shove the bench Bob died on against the door, and Gabriel lifts up a loose floorboard. It is dark inside the hole, and without thinking I am the first in the hole.

“I’ll make sure it’s clear,” I tell them. I receive a series of nods in reply, and both my hatchet and my handgun are out. It is dark under the floor of the church, though sunlight streams in through a break in the foundation. I crawl, ignoring the slight feeling of claustrophobia, and press myself against the side of the foundation, searching left and right for any signs of walkers that have wandered away from the group.

Fortunately, the area is clear and I scurry back to give everyone the okay. Through the hole in the floor I can hear walkers at the door, their nails scraping against the wood. Carl and Judith come first, and Carl hands the baby down to me. She wriggles in my arms, but she stays quiet. I brush my hand over her soft baby curls soothingly as Carl shimmies down beside me. I hand the baby back to him and then Gabriel’s feet come down next. Michonne is the last, and then the door cracks, the wood splintering from the weight of bodies against it.

I lead them out into the sun, the back of the church still free of the dead. Once we’re all out, Michonne then takes the lead and runs around the side of the building, her katana out and ready. All of the walkers have ambled inside the church, though some still linger in the aisle, and so I help her to close the doors. As they swing closed decaying hands break through between them, cracked and grey fingernails reaching for us on the outside. Michonne and I throw our weight against the doors, attempting to push the dead back without the need to push them with our feet. It’s near futile and the walkers pile up against the door, and Michonne and I are forced to retreat, our weapons ready.

We back-pedal off the porch as they follow us, snarling and growling and reaching. Michonne takes the heads off two at once while I pop off silent shots. There are too many, and Judith has begun to wail. As one walker ventures too close, the sudden sound of a revving engine and tires squealing on grass pulls my attention away for just a moment, long enough for a walker to clamp its teeth down on my duct-taped sleeve. Its grip is incredibly strong, and its teeth are bruising. As it fights for the taste of flesh it shakes its head and I cry out at the pain shooting up my arm as its teeth bear down on the duct tape. Michonne is there to jab the blade of her sword through the side of its head just as a goddamn fire truck plows through the small herd still pouring out of the church. As the walker attached to my arm falls, I get dragged down with it. Its jaw goes slack and I crawl out from under its body. Michonne has grabbed beneath my underarms and hauls me to my feet as Abraham sticks his ginger head out of the driver’s side window.

“Get in!” he yells. It doesn’t take much more than that and quickly we’re all piling into the back of the truck. I cradle my injured arm against my chest as Michonne shoves me up into a seat and she climbs in behind me. Once we’re all settled Abraham floors it and the truck pulls away from the church, the tires spinning on walker guts.


	4. Beth.

It is a relief to see the others, but it is disappointing to hear of Eugene’s betrayal. Though I didn’t believe the man for a hot minute, it still hurts to know that hope is now nearly extinct. The man in question is quiet in the backseat, sporting a rather large shiner on his eye. A quick replay from Glenn tells me Abraham is the culprit. He is white-knuckled in the driver’s seat as we head towards Atlanta, towards the others, and towards Beth. Maggie is nearly bouncing in her seat from her anticipation, calling for Abraham to step on it every few minutes. The city looms before us, a shadow and a shell of what used to be. My stomach plummets as we pass under a bridge, cars littered on either side. Bodies litter the streets as Abraham maneuvers the massive truck up the avenues.

My arm throbs, and it is only then that I am reminded of my ordeal. But we are pulling up to the gates of the hospital before I can peel my shirt away to assess the damage—to find out if I’m bitten. Maggie flies out of the truck and Glenn quickly follows. The rest of us take our time. A few walkers in scrubs greet us, and Glenn and Michonne dispose of them quickly.

The doors to the hospital open, Rick leading the procession. I stop, the look on his face freezing my blood. Behind him are Carol, Noah, Tyreese, and Sasha. Daryl appears last, and far from empty-handed. As he draws closer Maggie lets out an anguished cry, falling to her knees on the pavement. Glenn is right there for her as a crying Daryl, with a dead blonde girl in his arms, walks closer. My mind puts two and two together and I can’t ignore the painful tug of my heart. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the pain of loss that it nearly floors me; despite not knowing Beth, and not knowing this group for long, I am still grieving for their loss. The dejected look on everyone’s face causes me to exhale and turn away, the back of my hand pressed to my mouth as Daryl walks by. I don’t miss the stark contrast of bright red blood against Beth’s blonde hair or the gaping hole from a bullet.

Beth is wrapped in a sheet and is laid in the fire truck. Daryl rides with her lifeless head in his lap, and Maggie sits on the floor in front of him, her sister’s cold hand clutched tightly in hers. Tears stream down Maggie’s face as we ride, looking for an appropriate place to bury Beth. The fire truck is silent, and my eyes take in everyone—especially Daryl. He sits up against the window, staring down at Beth’s head with an expression that I can’t read. What I can read is the shadow that has suddenly taken over his face, turning his already dark features even stormier. I wonder briefly if Daryl and Beth were involved; I learned from Rick that before they were forced out, they holed up in a prison for a while until it was destroyed. Everyone had been separated, and Daryl wound up with Beth until she was taken. Rick didn’t say anything about it, but the way he’d said “they grew close” had implications after it.

Without thinking I reach out and lay a hand on Daryl’s shoulder in comfort, and I feel the way his muscles tense beneath his clothing. I’m not sure if it works, but he doesn’t shrug me away. I’m not even sure why I did it; perhaps the look on his face is bringing back painful thoughts and memories from a time before I knew Gabriel, knew these survivors. A heavy weight like lead has settled in the pit of my stomach. I can feel it radiating from the others around me, dragging me down with them.

We pull off to the side of the road sometime later, finding a still-blooming magnolia tree that will serve perfectly as Beth’s grave site. The entire group works to dig the grave, and I take it upon myself to fashion a rough cross out of a pair of sticks and some vinery. Beth’s sheet-wrapped body is laid gently to rest and is covered with dirt. Maggie cries again, and Glenn hugs his wife close. His eyes are red-rimmed as well. When the grave is covered, Rick takes the cross from me and hammers it into the ground. A magnolia bloom breaks free from a branch above and slowly descends to land on the freshly-packed dirt. It’s nearly too much for me and I have to turn away.

I step behind the fire truck, needing a moment, and I am sorely reminded of my injured arm. As I am peeling the shirt away, Michonne appears around the truck, worry creasing her forehead. I examine my arm. The walker’s teeth nearly chewed through the duct tape, but fortunately it’s held, and all that’s left on my skin is a darkening bruise. No skin breaks, no teeth marks, no blood. I release a sudden breath, clad only in my dirty bra, and lean against the side of the truck in relief. Michonne and I exchange a look; she is happy I am okay. I examine the duct tape on the sleeve. It will need repairing.

I shove my shirt back on as I hear activity on the other side of the truck. Rick appears then, asking Michonne to come along with him, Tyreese, Noah, and Glenn. Noah’s home is not far, and he says Beth wanted to make sure he got there—they’re going for Beth. I am left alone when they take off in the other car, an old red SUV, and disappear down the road. I return to the others. Maggie is seated under the magnolia tree, speaking quietly. Daryl stands guard not too far away, his arms crossed over his chest with his hands shoved under his armpits. He’s worrying his bottom lip, his eyes trained on the dirt pile that covers Beth.

Suddenly he’s moving, stomping to the fire truck to pull his crossbow from the back where he’d stashed it. He steps up to Abraham, who has assumed temporary charge while Rick is gone. Carol stands beside the open passenger door with a CB radio in her hand. She watches the exchange worriedly, and I instantly notice the look she shoots me when Abraham orders me to go with Daryl. I ignore it for now, make sure I have my weapons, and jog to catch up with Daryl who has already wandered into the trees. His figure is dark against the bark of the trees, his shoulders stiff and hunched, his footsteps silent as he picks his way through the woods. I try to follow as quietly as possible. Daryl ignores me for the most part, only giving me attention when he tells me to stop so he can examine the forest floor.

He spears six squirrels altogether, tying them up on a string he keeps around his neck. When he bags a wild turkey, he hands the thing wordlessly to me by its feet. He doesn’t turn away immediately, his eyes examining me the same way they study the ground.

“Don’t talk much do ya?” he grunts finally. He jerks his head, freeing his face from some of his hair, and I am able to finally make out the color of his eyes. They’re blue, but they aren’t like Rick’s. Rick’s are light and icy, while Daryl’s are storming, a lifetime of horrors swimming in their depths.

I shrug one shoulder and worry my lip between my teeth. “I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to say. Ain’t gonna ask if you’re all right, ‘cause it’s clear you’re not. But you clearly ain’t one for talking yourself. I’m just here to make sure you don’t run into trouble.”

He grunts again and turns away. “Can handle my damn self.”

“I believe that. But not in your current state of mind.” I step across a fallen log. “Better safe than sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything, and by the time we return to the group, our arms laden with fresh meat, we have another death to mourn. Tyreese was bitten on the scout, and so he is buried right beside Beth, his signature hat placed on his cross. Sasha is beside herself, pacing the side of the road like a wild animal. Rick suggests we move on and find somewhere to camp for the night; he doesn’t want to spend the night with ghosts, and I can’t quite blame him.

Carol rides in the fire truck this time, sitting almost possessively beside Daryl as I am forced to the other side of the truck. I sit behind Rosita’s seat, my back pressed uncomfortably against some firefighting equipment. My knees are bent with my arms resting on them as I pick at my nails. My arm is still sore, but since there is no bite to speak of, I don’t worry about it. Bruises fade with time. The hairs on my arms raise with that feeling again, and I sneakily cast a glance at Daryl; his blue eyes are on me beneath that curtain of dark hair, and I would kill to be a fly on the wall in his mind. Just as quickly, I look away, again not missing the slight glare Carol sends my way or her body shifting closer to Daryl’s.

I shuffle against the wall and lean my head against the seat in front of me, the movement of the firetruck lulling me to sleep.


	5. Wild Turkeys.

We settle in a clearing in the forest just as darkness begins to descend. I drop my pack beside Maggie and Glenn. The former has stopped crying, but an almost hopeless look has crossed her features. I recognize the look, as it is a look that others in the group wear, and it is one I wore a long time ago. Glenn steps away to converse with Rick and Daryl over the next plan of action, and I scoot up to Maggie’s side.

“I know…” I choose my words carefully before continuing, “you’re in a very rough place. I understand your pain, your anger, your loss of hope. I can see it on your face. I lost my sister, too, before all of this.” Maggie has turned to look at me now, waiting patiently.

“She was dating a bad guy. Abusive, manipulative. She cut everyone out of her life, including me. We were always close, so when she stopped talking to me all of a sudden, I knew something was wrong. I didn’t know what, but before I could find out more, we received a call from local police. Her boyfriend had beaten her to death when he found her trying to get help. The last time I saw my sister was on a medical table with a sheet over her face. I was in a bad place after that; she was only nineteen, still so young before she could live. But she was strong and so I had to become strong for her. I didn’t know Beth, but I know she affected this entire group. I don’t believe in the afterlife or anything, but I do know my sister is still with me, just like I know Beth is still with you. She’ll keep you strong.”

Maggie is overcome by a fresh wave of tears, but then she hugs me tightly. I slowly wrap my arms around her and let her cry, her tears dampening my shirt. Glenn glances over with a concerned frown, but I silently convey with my eyes that I’ve got it. And I do. I hold onto Maggie until she’s pulled herself together and she sits back.

“Thank you,” she says thickly, wiping her eyes. “And I’m so sorry about your sister.”

“I’m so sorry about yours,” I reply, giving her a soft, sad smile. I rest my hand on her shoulder and scoot back to my pack as Rick gives us watch rotations. Mine is second, right after Rick, and part of me is relieved that Rick is including me in his group dynamic.

We dine on the wild turkey Daryl caught; it is gamey, but it is hot and settles nicely in our stomachs. A fire is burning lowly and we circle around it, desperate for its heat as darkness cloaks us all. Promptly after dinner I lay back for a quick nap before my watch starts.

When I am woken, it is by Rick, who is merely a silhouette against the fire. I sit up, rubbing my eyes and yawning.

“If you need sleep, I can have Daryl take over,” Rick says quietly. Automatically my eyes shoot across the fire to the hunter, who is sitting up, wide awake. I shake my head.

“No, I got it. He should sleep though.” I nod in Daryl’s direction. Rick follows my gaze and sighs but says nothing. I take up my post outside the circle, my hand on the butt of my handgun. Cicadas sing their nightly tune around us, and my watch, for the most part, seems to be uneventful.

Until I am joined by Carol, who also seems unable to sleep. I stiffen as she walks up beside me, closer than I would normally like her. I don’t like the looks she’s been shooting me, and having her so close sends my instincts into overdrive. Unconsciously my hand tightens around my gun; I doubt I will need it, but it is a precaution and it calms me somewhat.

Carol is silent for a while, and it only serves to unnerve me even more. Then, she tilts her shoulder closer to mine, leaning her face beside my ear.

“Rick might trust you, but I sure as hell don’t, and neither does he,” she tells me lowly. I turn as she pulls away, her eyes glinting in the firelight. I can’t read the expression in them.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about. But if that’s a threat I hear, then it would serve you well to know I don’t take kindly to threats,” I mutter in reply, low but serious. In all actuality, I know she’s saying this because I’ve somehow encroached on her territory—whether it’s her entire group or one hunter in particular—and the implication that she would stop at nothing to keep her group safe has my palms itching.

In response, Carol simply smiles a saccharine smile and steps back, turning to plop down close to Daryl, who unbeknownst to me up until this point has been watching our exchange. She lays back in the leaves and rolls so her back is facing me. My jaw is clenched, her unsaid threat looming between us. My eyes lift to the hunter, wondering if he heard her threat, but I let it go and turn back to the darkness of the woods.

Carol’s threat bothers me more than it should. Not only have I never given this woman reason not to trust me, I have never even attempted anything other than a companionship with Daryl. If I’m to be traveling with this group, I at the very least want to know who has my back. I want nothing to do with romance—much less a romance with Daryl. He’s too broody, too closed-off. I know he has a deep kinship with Carol, and part of me believes she’s just gone ‘momma bear’ on him because of the shit they’ve no doubt been through together. But somehow I know that isn’t as far as it goes, and it irks me that the woman assumes to know anything about me.

The rest of my watch passes uneventfully, and Glenn replaces me. I settle down beside Maggie, using my pack as a pillow. Daryl, I notice, still hasn’t slept, but he is lying down. Carol is still on her side facing him, asleep, but he’s shuffled away a few paces, as if he really did hear her threaten me. He is staring at the canopy above, and, feeling my eyes on him, meets my stare. I give a small nod, I’m not sure why, and then I lay back and roll over, falling into a deep sleep.

The next time I wake, it’s to Maggie, who is gently shaking my shoulder. I sit up, wincing as my back protests. My arm is still sore from its bruise as well as sleeping on it the night before. I rub it subconsciously, the tender skin protesting. I straighten my shirt and stand up. Abraham, Rick, Daryl, and Glenn are huddled around the map, which Rick holds open as they devise a plan. They ultimately decide that Washington is still a good idea; even though Eugene was lying, he’s a smart man and recognized that if there was any hope for a restart, it could be found in Washington. So we all pile back into the two vehicles. I take my place in the firetruck on the floor again, beside Maggie, who I’ve noticed has grown closer to me. Perhaps it’s our similarities in that we’ve lost our sisters by horrible means or perhaps she just needs a female friend to confide in. Either way, I am there when she loops her arm through mine.

The ride is silent, and thankfully, Carol has opted to ride in the other vehicle. I glance curiously at Daryl, and the look on his face makes me wonder if he had any part in that decision. I leave it be, though, and turn to stare out the front windshield, allowing my thoughts to consume me. Absently I rub my arm where it’s bruised and Maggie notices.

“You all right?” she asks quietly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Daryl turn curiously.

“Yeah.” I glance at her and then back to my arm. “Back at the church, a walker got hold of my arm. No broken skin but the bastard bruised it pretty good. Shook me like a chew toy.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? I’m sure we had something for it,” Maggie tries.

“Like what? It’s a bruise, Maggie, it’ll be fine. Just sore.”

“And your positive it didn’t break the skin?” she asks, her tone dropping near to a whisper. Sighing, I tug my sleeve up despite the resistance from the duct tape and show her. It’s a big purple bruise in the shape of teeth marks, but as I said, there are no breaks and no blood.

“See? Just bruised.”

“Duct tape saved your life.” Daryl’s voice brings my attention to him and I smile slightly.

“One of its many uses. Gonna have to find a roll and fix this sleeve. Fucker put a hole in it,” I say dejectedly, sticking my finger through the slit in the tape. Our dwindling conversation is cut short by the sound of the firetruck running out of gas. It sputters, and Abraham curses as it rolls to a stop.

“Bitch nuts,” he grouses, shoving open the door with more force than is necessary. He hits the ground with a heavy thud, and the rest of us follow his cue. The sun bears down on us, and behind us, Rick steps up to the side of the truck.

“You out?” he asks, and he curses when Abraham tells him yes. “The Ford won’t fit all of us. Guess we’re walking from here.”

And walk we do.


	6. Here, Here.

I’m not sure how much time passes since we’ve left the vehicles. Time is such a rare find these days, except in the case that any one of our time could be up. I try to tell the time by the position of the sun, but my eyes are so not cooperating and I just give up. Rick has Judith in his arms, having just fed her, and she is halfway to Nappy-Land. We pass water bottles amongst one another, never taking more than enough to just keep ourselves hydrated.

Eventually, like all things, especially time, we run out. Our water bottles are bone dry and our mouths even more so. The dehydration hits so hard I wonder if I’ll start hallucinating soon. I almost wish my mind created the small herd of walkers that now follow us, but unfortunately, as of late, my luck just isn’t that strong. My stomach has long stopped growling, choosing instead to cramp painfully with hunger. My mouth feels like sandpaper, my tongue heavy and dry. I can’t continue this.

“I’m gonna head off and look for water,” I tell Rick. The group stops momentarily and turns to me with hopeful eyes, and for a moment, I think Rick’s going to protest. Instead, he nods at me and he nods at Daryl, ultimately pairing us up.

We head off into the woods, numerous pairs of eyes on us, including one that I know for a fact is glaring. I roll my eyes, and once we’re in the trees and out of sight, I sigh.

I know he’s waiting for me to speak, so I do, “Getting real sick of the little looks your girlfriend is giving me.” So tact was never my strong suit. Daryl seems to falter a moment and looks back towards the road where we left the group. We’re not worried about them moving on without us; they’re so burnt out they’re moving at a snail’s pace.

“You’ve caught them too huh?” is his grunted reply. I look at him then; he’s staring intensely down at the forest floor.

“What, is she sending them your way too?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, not so much, but she talks. Heard what she said to ya the other night. She don’t mean it.”

I scoff. “Ain’t no idea what that woman is bitching about anyways. Ain’t done nothing to give you all the impression that you can’t trust me, have I?”

“Not to me, no. Carol, she’s…she’s protective. She’s been through some shit.”

I scoff again. “We’ve all been through some shit. Ain’t no reason to start threatening people.” He stops.

“You telling me she threatened you?” he asks. His tone is hard to read, but his eyes are not. They’re angry, though whether it’s at me or Carol, I’m not sure.

I shake my head. “Not directly, but I heard it as clearly as I hear you. And I told her I don’t take kindly to threats. Then she just smiled all sweet-like and cuddled up to you like a lost puppy.” My tone bleeds annoyance, and I am surprised when he snorts.

“Carol ain’t no lost puppy. She’s a good person, she just…doesn’t trust easily. None of us do.” He murmured the last part, and right there I knew these people had been through some terrible, dark things.

“Rick seems to trust me, and the others do. You, on the other hand, I ain’t sure about. You’re hard to read, but I like to think I’m learning.” I’ve earned myself another snort.

“Ain’t that I don’t trust ya. Just don’t know ya. But ya haven’t given me any reason to kill you just yet, so consider yourself in the clear.”

It feels weird joking half-heartedly with Daryl like this, and just like that my irritation over Carol dissipates like steam in the winter time. Then, a sound reaches my ears and I freeze. It’s a sound so wonderful I think I just might cry. I look to Daryl, and he looks back at me with a small, barely-there smile that tells me he hears it, too. The sound of running water is like music to my ears, and we continue on until we part the brush and come across a shallow stream. It’s like venturing onto an oasis.

The stream is enveloped in a thick outer layer of vinery and fallen logs. I use my hatchet to hack at some of the thicker strands until Daryl and I are standing on the shore, our boots sticking in the mud. Normally, I’m aware of the need to boil water, but my throat has other ideas and suddenly I’m on my knees in the mud, scooping water like a dog in the summertime. Daryl is right there with me, and I laugh at the absurdity of the two of us, knelt by the water all but dunking our faces in.

On second thought, I do just that. I pull my hair off my neck and shove my entire face in the water, and I can hear Daryl barking out laughter. The water is icy on my face, but it’s the closest to heaven I’ve ever been. When I come up for air I’m sputtering, and the water runs down my sweaty neck. I have half a mind to strip down and jump in, but I know better. Daryl and I exchange wide smiles and start digging through our packs for the water bottles. We’ll boil these for the others, but the temptation was far too great to pass up. Before he stands, Daryl hesitates a moment before heaving a sigh and throwing his head and hair into the water, causing me to laugh as well. His dark hair looks black as it sticks to his forehead, dripping down the front of his shirt.

“Feels good,” he said, his voice rough. I smile again.

“Damn right.”

I dunk my face once more and shove the drenched baby hair off my forehead. Daryl has already stood and is waiting for me, his pack full of freshly-filled water bottles. I hike mine higher on my shoulder, and we head back towards the road. Sounds of conflict reach us as we draw closer, and, after exchanging a look, we barrel out from the trees, weapons drawn. Rick and the group have taken on the walker herd, but chaos has ensued. Before a walker can take a bite out of Rick’s jugular, Daryl fires his crossbow and takes it down. I proceed to hack my way through walkers, until we’re all heaving and tired and hot. I watch a brief, tense exchange between Michonne and Sasha, and I’m led to believe the latter was the cause of the chaos. Since the death of her brother, Sasha has been nothing if not volatile and brooding. I sympathize with her, but I also am not ready to die because her head isn’t in the game.

We walk further up the road, past the bridge, and settle in the dirt on the side of the pavement. A fire is started and Eugene breaks out one of the pans we have left to boil the water Daryl and I hand out. Grateful smiles are shared, and once the water is boiled and cold again, everyone nurses his or her bottle like it’ll be the last. A distant rumble is heard overhead as grey clouds roll in.

Daryl sits beside me, legs crossed in front of him. His hair is still dripping, plastered to his head, and he gives a few shakes of his head, spraying me in the process.

“Watch it!” I laugh, wiping beads of water from my face. He grins crookedly at me, and over his shoulder Carol is watching our exchange with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. Even from where I sit I can see her clenched jaw, and her fingers are curled into her baggy pants.

The clanging of glass momentarily draws my attention away from a leering Carol. Abraham has pulled a bottle of amber alcohol out of his pack.

“Seems a congratulatory drink is in order,” he says. He stares intently down at the bottle before holding it out to me. “You well and truly saved our asses. First drink belongs to you two.”

I crack the bottle open and lift it. “Here, here!” I tip the bottle back and take a hefty shot that burns a trail down my throat and instantly warms my stomach. I swallow and wipe my mouth and hold the bottle out to Daryl. He eyes it for a minute before he gives the smallest shake of his head. I frown, but I let it go and take another drink before passing it back to Abraham. I don’t have time to contemplate Daryl’s odd reaction to the booze. A series of low growls echoes from the trees across the road, but they are not the growls of the dead.

To my surprise, five feral dogs step out from the underbrush, hackles raised and teeth bared. The group startles, caught unawares that of all things, we now needed to worry about dogs. I feel a momentary blip of sadness come over me over the fact that these animals used to be pets. Their collars and tags jingle as they edge closer, preparing to attack. Beside me Daryl starts to rise, his crossbow tight in his hands. The others are following his lead, but they don’t get the chance.

In a blink, the dogs are put down by five rapid shots from Sasha’s rifle. Her face depicts no emotion as she sets the rifle down and the rest of us settle. A dark thought crosses my mind as I eye the now dead dogs, my stomach cramping in pain both from hunger and from the idea that I have. Sighing, I look to Daryl, and he seems to be way ahead of me.

The dogs are skinned and dressed and soon their meat is roasting on a handmade spit over the fire we’ve constructed. Rick passes me a plate of dog meat, and before I take it, I forlornly glance at the pile of collars. I reach for them, twirl the tags in my fingers, and pitch them into the coals before taking the proffered plate and digging in. Rick eyes me worriedly, but I manage a convincing enough sad smile that he nods and returns to his children.

Once we’ve all eaten, our bellies full from the first real meal we’ve had for a while, we’re on the move again. Our strength is somewhat renewed and we press on. After roughly an hour, our group stumbles upon an old, rickety ranch house. The shutters are falling off their hinges, and the front screen door has been knocked off either by wind or some other force.

“Daryl, Candace, and Abraham, we’ll scope it out first. If it’s safe, we can hole up here a bit,” Rick says, hands on his hips. I nod and make sure my handgun is loaded. Our ammo is dwindling; pretty soon we’ll be resorting to pointy sticks for defense. I am sandwiched between Rick and the massive space that is Abraham as the four of us step onto the creaky porch.

Daryl steps in front of us and slowly pushes the front door open, the hinges protesting loudly. We all cringe, and Daryl thumps his boot loudly on the doorframe. We wait for the telltale sign of the dead, and we are moderately surprised that it remains silent. I take my place in front of Abraham again as Daryl leads our little procession into the house. I volunteer to check the upstairs, and Abraham backs me up. The stairs are carpeted, a saving grace really, and so our footsteps are silent. The house is covered in layers upon layers of dust; I can’t make out the photos hanging along the wall beside the stairs.

At the top, Abraham and I fan out. One room is a bathroom that is, like the rest of the house, downright filthy. Hard-water has built up in the toilet, and for a moment I’m just floored that there is even still water. The mirror is cracked and layered with grime. I check the medicine cabinet above the toilet and recover a half-full bottle of Tylenol, a tube of antiseptic, and a large tube of toothpaste. [i]Thank god.[/i]

No toothbrushes are found, so I use my finger. My mouth tingles and just the fact that my mouth is clean boosts my morale sky-high. Abraham is down the hall when I exit the bathroom. I can hear him rifling through old belongings. I take the room at the end of the hall. The door swings open, stirring up a cloud of dust. I cough and freeze. A low growl is heard inside the dimly-lit room. I remain in the doorway, my handgun raised, as the growling grows in volume. I recognize it as some kind of animal, but I don’t have much time to think. A scurrying in the corner makes my head spin in that direction, and a dark shape comes flying towards me.

I shriek, and I barely register the twang of a crossbow behind me. The dark body hits the bed with a muffled thud, a bolt protruding from its chest. I turn around to see Daryl there, his crossbow still raised. He’s looking at me funnily.

“What?” I ask. He shrugs.

“Never heard ya sound like that before,” he grunts before stalking by me.

“Good shot by the way. The hell is that thing?” I move closer.

“Someone’s poodle gone rabid.” I frown as Daryl picks the dead dog up by a scrawny back leg and carries it away. “Rest of the house is clear.”

We call for the others and we all squeeze into the living room and the dining room. I’ve claimed a spot in the corner of the former room, my few belongings piled carelessly. Rick and Carl and Judith are settled beside me, a fact that I’m not too bothered by. The others choose their places, and I hurry back upstairs to share my finds. When I hold up the tube of toothpaste, the expressions on the others’ faces mimics those of people who’ve stumbled upon an oasis in the desert. They all scrub their teeth twice—even Daryl—and there’s still half a tube left over.

Morale has definitely gone up.


	7. Leave Me Behind.

The next morning, Rick pulls Daryl and me aside after breakfast, requesting we go hunting. Our food stores are down to next to nothing. We head out quietly and Daryl leads the way into the trees. He is quiet, his steps calculated; I try to mimic him as well as I can. It’s minutes before he speaks.

“How’d you find Gabriel?” His voice is so low I nearly don’t hear him. I carefully pick my way through the underbrush behind him.

“Like he said. I was hurt and needed help.”

Daryl stops and turns a disbelieving look at me. “That don’t answer my question.”

I stare at him for a moment before sighing. “Ran into some bad people, saw some bad shit, did bad shit. Didn’t come out of it completely unscathed. Literally just stumbled on the church. Gabriel was the only one there, and he didn’t hesitate in letting me stay. He patched me up and I just stuck around.”

“These bad people still out there?”

I hesitate, and he notices. “No.”

Daryl grunts and nods and is moving forward again. A while later, he stops again and signals me to do the same. Ahead in the thicket is the tawny hide of a massive doe. She’s aloof to our presence, and Daryl crouches in the leaves. As he’s preparing to fire, a sharp rustle feet away from me startles the deer, and she takes off. Daryl groans, but it’s cut off when a horde of the dead break through the brush.

“Shit, come on!” Daryl ushers me in front of him and we take off further into the woods. I can hear the dead behind us, tripping over themselves. We run for a while, and as the sounds of their groaning fades, we begin to slow down a bit. My lungs burn from running, and beside me, Daryl is faring no better. He leads us through another thicket and I misstep.

White-hot pain sears through my ankle and radiates upwards to the soundtrack of metal clanging together. I drop to my ass in the dirt, my ankle twisting painfully as it’s restrained by a hunter’s bear trap.

“Motherfucker!” I cry. Daryl is in front of me in moments, kneeling in the leaves and examining the trap. My ankle is bleeding and red, the spikes on the trap digging agonizingly into my flesh. I’m biting my tongue so hard I draw blood. Quickly, Daryl disassembles the trap, freeing my foot.

“Can ya stand?” he asks, glancing worriedly from my ankle to my face. I grimace and nod.

“I think so.” He helps me to stand, but as soon as I put weigh on my busted foot, I nearly go down again. “Maybe not. Who the fuck has a bear trap still out here?”

Daryl glances down at the trap, gnawing on his bottom lip. Then he looks at me again, and a newfound worry has settled in his eyes.

“Trap’s been here a while... It’s rusted solid.” My stomach drops and ice fills my veins. Before I have a moment to dwell on it, though, Daryl steps up to my injured side and throws my arm over his shoulder. “Gotta get you back and looked at.”

I grunt every step as he helps me hobble back to the house. We don’t run into the small herd again, and Daryl manages to take down three squirrels and a groundhog on the way back. It isn’t much, but it’ll do for a while. We reach the house, and Maggie, who is standing guard on the porch, pales considerably at the sight of Daryl nearly carrying me. I hear her call for Rick, and suddenly, our leader is there, wide-eyed with worry and fear.

“Got her foot caught in a trap. It’s bad, and the trap was rusty,” Daryl explains shortly. Rick and he exchange glances before turning back to me. I know it isn’t a good outcome no matter how clean we manage to get the wound. The end of the world and it’ll be tetanus that does me in.

Rick helps Daryl get me into the house, and there is a flurry of activity as people realize what’s happened. I’m peppered with questions as I’m seated on the couch, my back against the armrest with my bad ankle propped up. Rick calls for Carol, and I fight back a groan. Could this get any worse? Surprisingly, Carol keeps her face stoic as she looks over my ankle after pulling off my boot and sock, and I almost see a motherly tenderness in her eyes when I hiss as she prods the wound. It’s gone rapidly, though, and replaced with a look I’ve seen on a surgeon’s face before, a look that tells me she’s closed off every emotion. My ankle is cleaned with hot water and soap, and goddamn does it hurt. My fingers curl into the couch cushions.

“I’ve cleaned it the best I can,” Carol says softly to Rick. She turns that emotionless gaze back to me. “All we can do is wait and see. Hopefully we’ll find some medication or an antibiotic, preferably, but I’m worried about tetanus. When was your last tetanus shot?”

“Thirteen,” I grind out. I know what that means, too. The vaccine I received as teenager has now fled my system, leaving it horribly susceptible to the infection. Carol purses her lips and turns away to leave the room. I can hear her speaking lowly with Daryl in a soft, soothing voice. She offers to take his kills and get them started on a fire.

“We’re going to have to move tomorrow,” Rick says. “This area ain’t turning up much. You think you’ll be able to keep up?”

I sigh. “Guess we’ll find out.”

The next morning, my ankle is stiff and I still need help walking. In the drawers we were able to find extra pairs of socks, and so I am given two more pairs to bind my ankle for some support as we travel. I quickly lag behind; my skin is clammy, and I know infection is setting in, and setting in fast. Abraham and Maggie keep pace with me and help me hobble to catch up with the back of the pack. I appreciate the company, but my stomach clenches.

The group has begun to lag again as hunger once again sets in. Our water bottles are barely half full, and we are conserving as much as we can as long as we can. Carl falls behind and into step with me and hands me his water bottle. I shake my head.

“Come on, you’re hurt and you need it more than me,” he insists. I continue to ignore him as he pushes the water bottle into my arm. “Candace.”

“You’re still growing, Carl. You drink it. I can handle it.” My ankle screams in pain as I accidentally put too much weight on it. “Go on. I’m fine.”

Carl sighs in defeat and walks ahead to walk next to his father again. Rick has turned to watch our exchange, and as he falls back too, Maggie and Abraham scoot forward.

“You need to drink. Your bottle is empty. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Quit worrying about me, Rick. I’m fine. I’ve been busted up worse,” I tell him firmly. “Besides, it’s going to rain. I’ll get a drink then but I’m not taking it from anyone.”

My ears pick up on a small scoff ahead of me, but I don’t address it. Instead I glance upwards at the grey clouds that have been sticking around, silently hoping they open up and give us some reprieve from the heat. Rick sighs and resumes his place at the head of the procession. I am left to hobble by myself for a while, but eventually, my strength fails me and I hit the pavement. Bodies turn to face me in concern, and Maggie is there by my side. I lift the hem of my jeans to look at my ankle. It is swollen, red, and has begun oozing pus. I sigh.

“You need to leave me,” I mutter to her. I’ve warred with myself for a while over my condition, prolonging the inevitable. Anger flashes back at me as Maggie glares.

“We’re doing no such thing.”

“Maggie, think logically for a second, please?” I nearly plead. “My ankle is infected and we have no antibiotics. Putting pressure on my foot is just making it worse and I’m only slowing you down.”

“We ain’t leaving you behind,” she argues, and then she turns to Glenn. “Help me stand her up.”

“Goddammit, I said no,” I cry loudly as Glenn and Maggie haul me to my feet. I do my best to push out of their grasp. The others are openly protesting now as well, just as opposed to my idea as the couple on either side of me. “We have no food and we’re running out of water. I’m just slowing everybody down.”

“We ain’t leaving,” Daryl suddenly growls. “Ya gonna suck it up and walk. We do this together.”

I glare at him, resisting the urge to growl back at him. A heaviness settles in my chest, and I realize that, despite my best efforts not to, I’ve become attached to these people. It’s an uncomfortable weight, and I try to shift it away as I let Maggie, Glenn, and Daryl flank me as our little band moves on, the argument forgotten. I keep quiet as we walk, and as the day drags on I can feel the infection getting worse. I’m feeling faint and tired and heavy.

Daryl is beside me, acting as a guard rather than a crutch, and he knows I’m not doing so well. He puts a comforting hand on my back before seemingly coming to a decision. He nods sharply at me and breaks off from the group.

“Goin’ hunting,” he announces to Rick with a backwards glance at me. Rick nods, and I keep my eyes away when Carol steps forward.

“Mind if I tag along?” I eye the pavement.

“Nah, I got it.”

Carol steps forward anyways and says teasingly, “You gonna stop me?” He relents, and they head off into the woods, but not before Carol turns again and tries to aim another sweet, victorious smile in my direction that I pointedly ignore. I hear their footsteps—or Carol’s, rather—and plod on with the aid of Maggie and Glenn.


	8. Quality Assurance.

Daryl's POV

The woods are silent as we walk. Carol noisily trudges along behind me; I know why she’s volunteered to come with me, and while I’m grateful for the company, apprehension runs rampant within me. In my own typical fashion, I resort to anger and whirl on her. She flinches, a reflex I’m all too familiar with.

“So why’d you really come?” I ask roughly, wanting to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth. Her lips press into a thin line as she thinks of an appropriate answer.

“Wanted to make sure you’re doing all right,” she says finally, softly. I deflate just a little. I know I’ve been callous with her, with the group, ever since…her, and I feel guilty for it. Just as I’m about to respond she cuts me off, “And I wanted to make sure you had your head on straight.”

I can’t help it; my eyebrows burrow together, and I ask, “The hell you talking about?”

Carol leers and jerks her head back towards the road. “That woman. We should’ve left her behind like she asked. She’s right, you know. No sense in all of us dying because you’re letting her get into your head.” I clench my jaw and I know the action makes her nervous. Her eyes flicker from my jaw back to my eyes.

“What’s your problem with her? She’s one of us now. We don’t leave family behind.”

“ _She's_ not my family,” she spits. “Rick, Maggie, Glenn, hell even Abraham and them, they’re my family.” She takes a large step forward, putting us mere inches apart, and her voice drops. “You’re my family.”

Before I know it, she’s leaning into me, her eyes on my mouth. I almost let it happen—hell I was curious once—but something in my gut spurs me to turn away from her and take a step back. Instantly her demeanor changes to one of defense. I know I’ve hurt her.

“Can’t,” I tell her gruffly. I shake my head once, my greasy hair acting as a curtain in front of my face. “Wouldn’t be fair to ya to lead ya on.”

Carol scoffs derisively. “Why, because you have feelings for that woman? A stranger? We don’t even know where she came from, what she’s done.”

I turn my back on her. “Ain’t none of our business. We all done bad shit. And I ain’t got feelings for no one.” It isn’t a complete lie; true, since Candace joined us I’ve felt a slight pull towards her, but mostly because in a way, she’s just like me. She’s on the outside, though she still belongs. She ain’t ever given me reason not to trust her, even though I know she’s done some shit. The look she gets in her eyes every once in a while is the same one I get too. She’s haunted by unseen ghosts, same as me.

On the other hand, I’ve come to like her company. She doesn’t talk mindlessly for the sake of talking, and she seems to observe more than she likes to let on. Her quietness and tenacity to remain uncaring and on the outside, draws me to her in a way I’m unfamiliar with, and every time I’m near her I’m wanting to know more about her.

“Let’s go,” I order when I don’t hear Carol behind me. “Gotta get something for the group to eat.”

“You mean get her something to eat.” She’s practically spitting again, and I roll my eyes. I’m getting way too old for petty high school bullshit, and I nearly call her out on it when a scurrying fat rabbit cuts across our path. I aim and fire and nail the animal in the neck. It stills, and I string it by its feet to my kill string.

I manage to nail a few squirrels before we’re making our way back to the group. Carol has, to my relief, remained silent. The group is easy to spot. They are resting by the side of the road, and my eyes instantly settle on Candace, who sits sandwiched between Maggie and Carl. She is deathly pale, her eyes glassy, and sweat has broken out on her forehead. I instinctively frown. She’s worse off than I had originally thought, and she doesn’t notice right away when Carol and I meet up with them with our kills. The rest of them eye the squirrels and rabbit ravenously, and a fire is quickly built.

The meat is roasting on a stick over the fire when I crouch down beside Candace with a water bottle in my hand. Her eyes remain unfocused on the fire in front of us, and I can’t help but worry. Her injured ankle is stretched out in front of her, and the wound has bled and oozed fluid through the hem of her jeans, staining them an ugly shade of brown.

“Candace,” I say quietly. No response. I nudge her with the back of my hand in the arm; she sways uneasily and blinks, and her eyes focus on me. I wordlessly hand her the water bottle. She unscrews the cap somewhat clumsily and lifts it to her mouth, drinking slowly. “How ya feeling?”

“Can’t feel my ankle,” she mumbles and shifts her injured leg. “Bad infection, high fever. Don’t think I’m going to go much further.”

“Have ya eaten anything?” She shakes her head and as soon as the meat is finished, I hand her a plate with her portion as well as mine. She glances up at me with the resistance I’m expecting. “Ya need to keep ya strength up till we can find ya some medicine. Can ya do that?”

She coughs as she eats grudgingly and holds the back of her hand to her mouth. Her eyes meet mine, and within them I catch a brief glimpse of fear. It puts ice in my veins. “I’m going to try.”

We camp out beside the road, and Candace has fallen asleep between Maggie and Michonne. Rick and I take watch; the older man has been relentless in his scouring for a place for us to hole up. Every once in a while during our watch, I catch him glancing worriedly at Candace, as if she’s going to succumb to the infection overnight and turn. I can’t deny that the thought has momentarily crossed my mind. When I pressed my hand to her forehead earlier in the day, her skin was raging with fever. I can only imagine that it’s gotten worse, and in her sleep, her body is racked with chills.

“She’s gonna be okay.” Rick’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts. I cast a quick look at him. His words belie his inner worries over the fate of Candace. I merely grunt in reply and take a few steps away to scope out the trees surrounding us.

The next morning, Abraham has become Candace’s crutch, as the woman is worse off than the day before. She is delusional and I can hear her mumbling behind me, and against my better judgement, I’m worrying my bottom lip, concerned for her. Though neither of us talk all that much, and even less so when in one another’s company, she’s still managed to earn my trust and she’s become one of us. My eyes find Carol, who’s turning every so often to glare at Candace, as if her incoherent, delusional mumbling is such an inconvenience. I feel a momentary surge of anger, but quickly I tamper it down. Carol don’t trust easily, and that ain’t her fault.

Feeling claustrophobic, I break away from the group and head off into the trees. Carol tries to follow me again, but I’m firm in telling her no and I turn my back on her disapproving stare. The trees offer me a reprieve even my closest friend can’t, as well as much needed silence. The silence in the woods is different from the silence amongst the group. A heaviness has settled over all of us, a hopelessness that I’m not sure we’ll break free from. If we don’t find somewhere to hunker down and rebuild ourselves, we’ll all succumb, even me. We’ve been through so much, experienced so much death and loss, that I’m not sure we’re savable. Rick was wrong; we don’t get to come back.

My feet carry me to a wide clearing dotted with trees. A lone barn stands at the edge on the opposite side. Old farming equipment sits rusting in the tall grass. I venture closer and examine the interior of the barn. It’s empty of the dead and the living.

Before I head back to the group, my arms empty of any kind of food, I lean my back against a tree and let my mind run away from me. As my thoughts bounce from one thing to another, I’m suddenly angry again, and realizing I’m angry only makes me more so. Despite the hopelessness bleeding from the group, my anger morphs into a new determination to prevent anyone else from dying, from our group succumbing to darkness and death. The more I recall the shit we’ve been through, the more I decide that Rick was right—we do come back, and we will.

It's with that thought that I shove off the tree and stomp back to the group. When I find them, they’re gathered around something in the middle of the street. Rick notices me over Rosita’s shoulder and storms over to me, a piece of paper crumpled in his hands. In black ink, it reads [i]From a friend.[/i] I glance at what everyone is looking at. A cluster of water bottles sits neatly on the pavement. Instantly I’m on alert, my crossbow tightly in my hands. I skim the trees. Surely I would’ve known if we were being followed? Perhaps my mind has been elsewhere for too long.

There’s a scuffle between Abraham and Eugene as the latter attempts to drink from one of the bottles, claiming something about quality assurance. We’re far from dehydrated, but our stores from Candace’s and my water trip are depleting fast, especially since many of us have given our shares to Candace. As the yelling continues, it’s suddenly broken up by the sound of thunder overhead. Not a heartbeat later, rain begins to fall. The others are laughing and clawing for their nearly-empty water bottles, unscrewing the caps and letting the rain funnel in.

There’s a flash, another boom of thunder, and the wind picks up. We’re pummeled with driving rain, and it stings on the skin. The group scrambles, Candace jostling limply between Maggie and Glenn and I jump into action.

“There’s a barn!” I yell over the chaos. Attention is on me, and I lead the way through the trees, trying to keep my feet on the wet leaves lining the forest floor.


	9. Alexandria.

Daryl's POV

The barn is damp and dark on the inside, and the storm rages on without. Lightning flashes through the windowpanes, illuminating the dank interior. Rick paces from one end of the barn to the other, making sure there are no surprises. I watch as Candace is laid on the dirt floor, her skin even paler than it was. She is shivering despite the small fire that is now crackling in the center of the barn. Maggie sits with her head in her lap, brushing her damp hair away from her forehead. Before I’m thinking, my feet carry me over to the pair of them, and I crouch beside them.

“How is she?” I ask just above a whisper. Maggie smiles sadly at me; she’s a smart girl, picks up on more than she lets on. I know my concern and fear is evident on my face. I look away, down at Candace’s face. Her eyes are closed, and every now and then her face contorts in pain.

I don’t miss the way Maggie hesitates. “She needs antibiotics. I’m not really sure how much longer she’s going to last. Her pulse is faint and I’m sure she has tetanus, if not a blood infection for sure…”

My chin quivers and I reach out to softly touch Candace’s forehead. Maggie’s hand grasps mine, squeezing it in comfort. I jerk a nod at her and rise.

“Keep her warm,” I tell the brunette before I take up my post beside one of the windows. My crossbow hangs limply in my hand as I look out at the storm, the sky darkening by the minute. I lift my hand to my mouth and chew on my thumbnail, once again letting my thoughts get away from me. Candace is dying right in front of me and I can’t stop it. Helpless doesn’t begin to describe how I’m feeling.

After my conversation with Carol the day before, a lead weight has found home in my gut. Candace doesn’t talk much, but her unwavering ability to put others before herself pulls me to her. In many ways, we’re too alike, especially in our useless attempts to keep people from getting too close. The people of this group look to her for guidance now, even though she’s only been with us a short while. Though she keeps herself closed off, I can tell she’s strong and she cares for the group. I’m not sure what I’m feeling for her can be called attraction; hell, she ain’t bad on the eyes, not one bit, but the day she simply laid her hand on my shoulder, after Beth, our first official interaction, I’m pulled to her like a magnet to its matching part.

I quickly steal a glance at the unconscious woman; she’s beside the fire, shivering as sweat beads on her forehead. I feel myself frowning deeply; despite only knowing her a short while, I’m scared to lose her before I can figure out what it is I feel for her. I turn back to the window, and my back goes rigid. In between the dark and the flashes of lightning, I can clearly make out the shape of dozens of walkers, and they’re heading for the barn doors.

When they make contact with the door, I rush from the window and throw my weight into the doors, my boots planted firmly in the hard-packed floor of the barn to keep them closed. I throw a fearful glance over to the others, who have slowly started to settle down for the night. Maggie is the first to pick up on what’s happening, and she carefully sets Candace’s head on the ground before joining me at the door. The banging of decaying hands on the doors rouses the others, and soon all of us are fighting to keep the doors closed. The rain seeps through the crack in the doors, soaking all of us as well as the ground, turning it to mud. Our boots slip, but we manage to hold off the walkers through the night.

By morning, the banging on the doors has stopped and the storm has moved on. None of us has slept, except for Carl and Judith, who has started to wriggle and complain at the emptiness of her stomach. Maggie and Sasha volunteer to scope the area, and when they come back, they aren’t alone.

A man is in front of them, and the girls introduce him as Aaron. He holds up his hands and prattles on about a community, complete with walls and people and supposedly a dance troupe. I’m skeptical, but Rick is completely disbelieving. I flinch when he cold-cocks Aaron, sending him to the group in a heap. Aaron is restrained, and I watch intently as Rick paces the barn like an animal. He’s waiting for an attack and attempts to gear everyone up for a supposed war.

Aaron comes to and he smiles. “That’s a mean right-hook you’ve got there, Rick.”

Rick leers at him, pesters him with questions about this group of his. Aaron’s eyes flit around the group, until he notices both Judith and an unconscious Candace beside the fire pit. His demeanor changes to worry, and my instincts tell me it’s sincere.

Then he jerks his head to Maggie. “Check my pack. I have antibiotics in there.” Maggie doesn’t hesitate, and even I am anxious over the prospect of saving Candace. Maggie pulls the pill bottle from the pack, reading the label for Aaron to confirm. Rick, however, is beside himself.

“We don’t know this man!” he cries, gesturing to the stranger with his revolver. “We don’t know if those are even antibiotics!”

“Rick,” Aaron interrupts, “if I was going to hurt you, I would’ve set fire to the barn. You know, trap you all inside and pick you off as you tried to escape through the only exit.” I internally admit he has a point, but I keep silent.

Maggie disregards Rick’s prior suspicions and sits beside Candace, pulling her head into her lap. While she attempts to rouse Candace to get the pill down her throat, Judith starts crying, and Aaron looks at her.

“I have applesauce, in my pack,” he says urgently. I watch as Rick struggles with himself for a moment and then pulls the jar of homemade applesauce from the backpack; Aaron says something about an orchard, but my attention is solely focused on Candace as she regains consciousness long enough to wash the antibiotic pill down with a sip of water.

Then there’s a debate; Michonne and Maggie fight for us to go with Aaron to Alexandria. Rick is still not wholly convinced. I’m with Maggie when she says that Candace needs medical attention, which Alexandria has. Michonne remains firm and pointedly looks at Rick’s children, and it’s decided that we head out with Aaron to his community.


	10. Stepford Wives.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Candace's POV.

My mind feels fuzzy and heavy, like someone has shoved cotton balls into my skull, and I’m vaguely aware of muddled voices around me. I move my tongue and attempt to speak, but it, too, feels heavy and mouth is like sandpaper. All I manage is a strangled whine, but it’s enough. The voices are closer and as my mind straightens itself out, I can make out words.

“Candace? Candace, can you hear me?” It’s Maggie. I struggle to open my eyes; why do I feel so goddamn heavy all over? My vision is blurry, but I can make out the shape of Maggie’s head, her short dark hair hanging in her face as she looks down at me. When my vision focuses and I blink, Maggie chokes a mixture of a laugh and a sob.

“Hi,” I groan. She returns the sentiment and turns to address someone I can’t see. My question is answered when two more heads appear above me. One of them is Rick, and relief is evident in his blue eyes. The other woman is blonde and wears a pair of glasses, which she shoves up her nose.

“Hi, Candace?” I nod. “My name’s Denise. How’re you feeling?”

“Heavy and…numb. What happened? Where am I?” I question. My tongue laps at my dry, chapped lips, and Maggie disappears for a moment. I hear the sound of a faucet—running water?!—and then she’s back, holding a glass of water to my mouth. I drink greedily, nearly choking. I cough, and when I recover, I take a moment to look around.

I’m in a house that has clearly been converted into an infirmary. The mattress beneath me is incredibly comfortable, and everything is so clean it damn near sparkles. An IV drip stand sits beside my bed, and a white cabinet is open, showing off the array of medical supplies. I look to Denise as she begins to run through what happened. Bear trap, infection, passing out in some building. My memory is fuzzy, but I distinctly remember teetering along the edge of death. My blood runs cold as I take in the sight of my ankle. It is bound heavily to the point that I can’t move it.

“I had to lance the infection. You had a bad case of blood poisoning, but I’ve kept you on antibiotics since you came in.”

“How long have I been out?” I ask, furrowing my eyebrows.

“Three days. Your infection was pretty severe.” Three days?

“Where the hell am I? Rick?” I look to our leader and he holds his hands out, laying one of them on my shoulder. It’s a small gesture but it does wonders for my anxiety, which is steadily skyrocketing.

“We’re in a community called Alexandria. We’re all here and safe. We’ve been given a couple houses from their leader, Deanna.”

“She’ll want to speak to you as soon as you’re able,” Denise cuts in. “Would you be up for it today?”

“I…I guess.”

“Great. I’ll be back shortly. There are some crackers in that drawer over there, Maggie, for her.”

Wordlessly I’m handed a small square of saltine crackers. My stomach growls loudly, and I have to force myself to not inhale them; it’s been quite a while since I’ve eaten, and forcing too much into my stomach would be counterproductive. I nibble on the crackers as Maggie sits on the bed beside me.

“We were all so worried about you…” she says. I swallow at the shininess of her eyes. “There was one moment, in the barn, when we thought we lost you. Your pulse was next to nothing. It was a good thing Aaron showed up when he did.” I don’t miss the pointed look she sends in Rick’s direction; our leader clenches his jaw and looks down at the floor, hands on his hips.

“Who’s Aaron?”

“He’s a recruiter for Alexandria. He showed up one morning and he had antibiotics in his pack, so we gave you one to keep you alive. Seemed to have worked. And then we got you here and Denise took care of you. She says you’ll make a full recovery.”

“When can I get out of here?” Maggie pauses and I start. “My ankle is bound to the point where I can’t move it. I’m sure these people have crutches. Please. I don’t do well on bedrest.”

“We’ll see what Denise and Pete say when they return,” Rick says with a note of finality. Before anything else can be said, a short, older woman with red hair steps into the room, smiling brightly. I bristle, and Rick’s hand on my shoulder squeezes.

“Well, look who’s awake! My name is Deanna. I need to ask you some questions,” the woman says. She glances at Rick and Denise, and the two of them step from the room, the former doing so reluctantly.

“Can Maggie stay?” I ask hurriedly before she can leave. Deanna seems to hesitate, pursing her lips before she nods and holds up a device in her hands.

“Do you mind if I film this?” It’s a video camera, and for a moment I’m so stunned that it still exists. I nod wordlessly, and Deanna sets up a tripod and takes a seat in front of me at the end of the bed. Not so politely, Deanna gestures to Maggie to step out of the frame. With narrowed eyes, she does, and Deanna leaps into her questions. “Let’s start with your name?”

“Candace Carr,” I reply with little hesitation.

“How long have you been out there?”

“Since the beginning, I suppose.”

“What did you do before all of this?”

“I worked as an accountant for a marketing firm.” Deanna’s mouth sets in a thin line as she mulls my answer over.

“And how did you come to join Rick’s group?”

I shrug. “They stumbled upon the church I was holding up in with Gabriel. They stuck around for a while, and when they left, they let me tag along.”

“Well, that was nice of them. Were they your only group?”

I still and it does not go unnoticed by neither Maggie nor Deanna. “No.”

“What happened to them?”

“What happens to every group eventually. They died.” I quickly grow irritated with her questioning, and Deanna seems to sense my unwillingness to continue. I don’t like this line of questioning, and fortunately, she shuts off the camera. She bids me a quick recovery and promises me she’ll have a job for me when I’m fully recovered, and she leaves. Maggie takes her seat on the bed beside me.

“What was the point of all that?”

“I’m not sure,” Maggie replies honestly. “She did it to all of us. I thought Daryl was going to blow a gasket when he stormed out of her house after she questioned him. Can only imagine what she asked him.”

I huff a short agreement and my mind wanders momentarily to the hunter. I’m reminded of his blatant worry for me; I remember his giving me his share of his squirrel before we found the barn, and I recall hearing his voice in my subconscious. My eyes wander the room and settle on the crutches that are leaning against the counter on the other side of the room. Denise must have dropped them off.

“Get me those crutches. You’re breaking me out of this joint.”

“But Rick said…”

“Rick’s not me. I feel fine. Come on, Mags.” She looks reluctant, but at my insistence she does what I ask. She adjusts the crutches for me and helps me balance on them.

It takes me a few moments to get the hang of hobbling on them, but soon, Maggie is leading me out of the house and onto the streets of Alexandria. I am awestruck by the sight before me. The streets are just that. Streets, hidden behind massive metal walls. People walk the streets with baby carriages and pets and other people. The streets are clean, and the neighborhood is dotted with similar-looking houses in what is clearly a cookie-cutter housing development. Everything is clean, including the clothing the residents wear, like it hasn’t even been touched by the end of the world.

“How…?” I murmur to myself.

“Deanna says she and her husband started the community right after the Turn. This place has been standing ever since,” Maggie explains for me. I hobble out into the sunlight, and the stairs of the house present a small struggle for me. I hop on one foot down them, my hand on the railing and the crutches tucked into the crook of my elbow.

I resume my hobbling as Maggie leads me down the street. The Alexandrians pause in their activities to watch me like I’m some animal at the zoo. It unnerves me and I speed up my hopping. Maggie brings me to two nearly identical houses side-by-side.

“These are the two houses Deanna gave us. She says we’ll each get our own once we settle in. Rick thought it would be a good idea to all hunker down in one for a little while.” Maggie helps me up the stairs and the front door swings open. Rick’s frame takes up the doorway.

“I thought you were on bedrest.” His tone is annoyingly fatherly, and I roll my eyes.

“Going stir-crazy in there.”

“You were only awake twenty minutes,” he points out. Traces of a smirk cross his features, and I give him my own crooked smile. “Come on. Everyone will be happy to see you up and walking.”

And they are. I’m swarmed with hugs from all ends, except for Carol, who stands against the wall in the living room with her arms crossed. An unreadable expression is on her face; she looks neither thrilled nor upset that I am up and walking, much less alive. The one person notably absent is the one I find myself missing the most, and Maggie picks up on it as she watches my eyes bounce across the room. I’m not sure why it takes me so long, but amidst my evaluation of the group, I notice that they’re clean too—skin free of dirt and fresh, clean clothes adorning their bodies.

“They have showers?” I ask, taking in Rick’s ironed button-up. They all smile widely at me, nodding. I exhale heavily, and the sudden sound of boots thumping down the stairs draws my attention the staircase to the right of the front door.

Daryl’s mostly clean form appears before my eyes, and he’s startled to see me at the bottom of the stairs. His hair is wet and in his face, and his skin is clear of dirt and grime, but he still wears his filthy shirt and pants. It’s odd to see him clean and to not smell him at four feet away. A wave is all I can muster.

“Yer up,” is all he says. He chews the inside of his cheek for a moment before giving me a single nod. It’s the best I’m going to get with our current audience. Silence settles over the room as the group watches our interaction, and then all of a sudden Maggie is ushering me to hop up the stairs.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she says. I can feel the room’s eyes on me as I hop pathetically on one foot until I’m out of breath at the top of the landing. I crutch to the bathroom and Maggie closes the bathroom door behind us.

Again, I am stunned by the pristine state of the bathroom. Slate-blue tiled floors, a walk-in shower, marble countertops and numerous unopened packages of toothbrushes. I lean heavily against the counter, drinking it all in, as Maggie turns on the shower. I whimper before I can think better of it. I’ve been so deprived of general hygiene that I almost can’t take it. Maggie sets the crutches aside and I balance on one foot as she helps me out of my clothing. Modesty is the least of my worries in my current state, and I’m just thankful for the help. Once I’m fully stripped, I bounce as quickly as I can into the shower, making sure to keep my bound ankle outside the spray of the shower.

Maggie leaves me to shower and I promise to call her when I’m finished. When she’s gone, I let out a long, content moan at the feeling of the hot water on my skin. I turn up the temperature and the bathroom is quickly filled with steam. The water swirling at my feet is quickly tinged with brown and red. I squeeze a sizeable amount of shampoo into my hands and desperately work it through my tangled, greasy hair, noticing that the suds, too, are brown. I cringe as I dig my nails into my scalp, relishing in the feel of my hair finally being clean. I nearly laugh when I see the bottle of conditioner, and again, I dump a huge amount into my hands and run it through my hair and let it sit.

My hands grasp for the can of shaving cream and the razor. I smear the cream on my legs, underarms, and my bikini line and make quick work of ridding my body of the unwanted overgrown hair. The razor and the shaving cream come away dirty as well, and then I’m scrubbing my body with a loofah loaded with lilac-scented body wash. My skin is pink by the time I rinse, and I run my hands through my hair to rinse the conditioner out. Just for the hell of it, I stay in the shower for a few minutes longer, just relishing in the feel of being goddamn clean.

Eventually, I shut the water off, and I call for Maggie, who’s sitting right outside the door. She hurries in and helps me towel off. There’s a bottle of lotion under the sink and, sitting down on the closed toilet lid, I smear it over my legs, arms, stomach, and anywhere else I can reach. Then, for the hell of it, I rub my newly-bare legs together. Maggie giggles.

“I did that too. It’s amazing, isn’t it? How shaved legs seems to make everything better?” she says. I nod emphatically and she hands me a stick of deodorant. I stare at it as if it’s alive and talking to me. “I know.”

“This is gonna take some getting used to…” I say as Maggie helps me dress in a new pair of undergarments—thank god—a pair of bootcut jeans, which are difficult to pull on due to my lathered bare legs, and a navy-blue tank top. I shove my good foot into a new sock, and I make sure my ankle’s dressings are dry.

I towel dry my hair in front of the mirror and desperately avoid looking over my gaunt frame. I quickly French-braid my hair into a plait down my back and before I know it, I’m back on my crutches and hopping down the stairs. The others are still in the living room, Daryl included, and I’m quickly filled in on the situation with Deanna, who was both looking for me and stopped by to assign jobs to the others. The only ones without them are Daryl and myself. I purse my lips.

As the others discuss dinner plans, I find myself wanting to explore the community. When I voice this, Maggie quickly volunteers. I don’t stop her, and with a murmured ‘be careful’ from Rick, we’re out the door.

“So,” Maggie says as we’re halfway down the street. We’re heading in the direction of the infirmary, and Maggie is pointing out all of the various buildings—the pantry, infirmary, a library, a school… It’s all here, intact, and it sends my mind reeling. “You gonna tell me what that look between you and Mr. Dixon was?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask. I know what she’s getting at, but since I haven’t even figured out an answer to it, I decide to play dumb.

“Come on, Candace. You can’t lie to your best friend.” I stop my hobbling, and Maggie stops a few steps ahead when she realizes I’m not beside her. Another heavy weight sits in my chest at the realization; Maggie really is my best friend. After so long without people, without civilization, and without the normalcies that Before brought, I had never thought I’d have another best friend ever again. The thought that I have one now nearly brings tears to my eyes.

I sigh when she stares at me expectantly. “I don’t have an answer to that.”

“Well, there’s obviously something there.” I chew on my bottom lip, picking at the chapped skin. “And I don’t think I’m the only one who’s noticed either.”

I cut my eyes to her. “Who else thinks that?”

Maggie gives me an incredulous look. “Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

“Oh. Yeah. I’m not really sure what her problem is. It started that day…the day Tyreese passed away, when we buried Beth,” I whisper, watching Maggie’s face. It crumples, but she holds it together. “Abraham told me to keep an eye on him, so that’s what I did. To be honest, nothing worth noting happened out there, and I’m not really sure what’s happening now.”

“Well, do you want something to happen?” Maggie presses.

I sigh again. “I don’t know. I think, right now, I’m a little shell-shocked from all of this. I don’t really have room for anything else. What’s the deal with this place anyways? Everyone looks so…”

“Stepford Wives? Yeah, I got that too. I’m not really sure, but Deanna’s taken me under her wing, so I’m going to find out. There’s no way this place goes through all this and comes out unscathed.”


	11. Ain't Nothin'.

It feels strange eating a dinner cooked on a stovetop while seated at a clean kitchen table. I have been placed in a house with Maggie and Glenn; the day before, Rick made the penultimate decision for all of us to start acclimating to Alexandria, and the first step was spreading out into our own houses. I have visited Denise at the infirmary every day, and unfortunately, I’m still using the crutches to get around. It makes for a quick road to aggravation, as I don’t adjust to the domestic life well. Carol, on the other hand, seems to be playing the dutiful housewife very well. She’s in a house with Daryl, not by accident I assume, and she, Rick, and the hunter seem to have some kind of plan. I’ve caught them sneaking out the front gates more than once, but that isn’t what sets my suspicions off.

It’s Carol’s sudden attitude change where I’m concerned. She’s still clearly bitter over whatever she thinks Daryl and I have, despite my constant reminding her that there is nothing going on, but when we’re in the presence of both our group and the Alexandrians, she’s as sickly sweet as maple syrup. It’s unnerving, and the first time she spoke to me with such kindness, Daryl shot her a look that spoke volumes. It frustrates me that I am left on the outside; it’s only slightly relieving to know that the others in our group are as equally in the dark.

I have my own reservations about Alexandria. The citizens seem to live in blissful ignorance of what has happened outside their community. None of them carry firearms, and most of me is relieved for that. The other part of me is wondering how this place is still standing.

That disbelief is fueled even more when Maggie says all of us have been invited to a welcome party at Deanna’s house that evening. The expression on my face speaks volumes.

“I know, it sounds a little ridiculous,” Maggie says hesitantly.

“A little? The world has ended and these people want a party?” I retort incredulously.

“Maybe it helps keep morale up,” Glenn offers lamely, and I roll my eyes.

“These people are clean as whistles and aren’t even armed. I think their morale is through the roof.”

“Rick and Daryl have a plan,” Glenn says, and I give him a look. He shakes his head. “I don’t know exactly what it is. All he said was to try and fit in as well as we can for the time being. Now, can you girls go get ready?”

I sigh but relent and hobble up the stairs to get changed. I enter the bathroom to wash my face, brush my teeth, and French braid my hair. When I’m finished, I hop to my bedroom and I see that Maggie has laid out a pretty hunter green dress that goes well with my skin tone and hair. I struggle into it, leaving it unzipped for now, and smear on deodorant and lotion on my bare legs. It feels infinitely strange to have smooth legs again. I’m not sure I’ll get used to it, but I definitely am not complaining. I shove my good foot into a black flat and go back downstairs. Maggie is still changing, so I have Glenn zip the back of my dress and clasp it at the back of my neck.

I glance in the hall mirror as Maggie and Glenn’s bedroom door closes and Maggie’s footsteps are heard overhead. I don’t look half bad, but the dress doesn’t fit nearly as well as it should. I’ve lost a significant amount of weight, and though the dress is pretty, I don’t do it justice.

The three of us head to Deanna’s house as sunset drowns Alexandria in an orange glow. Maggie is dressed in a navy blouse and black dress pants and Glenn sports jeans and a button-up shirt. Our trio makes for a pretty picture minus my crutches and heavily bandaged foot. I inwardly scoff, never having thought I’d be wearing a dress or attending a party at the end of the world. Deanna’s house is unmistakable—the front door is open and light spills out onto the walkway.

I crutch up the stairs and lead the way inside. Instantly I spot Abraham’s bright head over everyone else and make a beeline for him. He wears a grey shirt and jeans, and Rosita, who stands beside him, wears a black dress that looks incredible on her. Abraham must read my look as panicked because he chuckles and quickly hugs me to his side, avoiding my bad foot.

“It ain’t as bad as it looks,” he says reassuringly. Rosita smiles, eying my outfit.

“Damn girl, you look good. Didn’t know you had some gams under those jeans,” she teases. I manage a small smile, feeling way out of my element here. “Don’t look so terrified. Have a drink, it’s easier to relax.”

“Can’t,” I grumble. “Under strict orders to stay away from booze while on antibiotics. Figures.” Rosita and Abraham both smile sympathetically. I look around for the others. Rick is in the corner with Judith, talking to a pretty blonde. He is smiling, but what’s scarier is his clean face. That outrageous, wild-man beard is gone, making him look about a decade younger. The blonde steps away when a man tugs on her hand, and I don’t miss the clenching of both the man’s and Rick’s jaws. They’re both subtle, but years of people-watching has honed my ability to read body language.

When they’re gone, I hobble over to Rick and give him a wide smile. He mirrors it, and without all that fur his entire face lights up. It’s unnerving.

“Look at you. Evolving from caveman, I see,” I say jokingly. I lean my crutches against the wall behind us and follow them. My arms and underarms are killing me from the damn things.

“I’m still not used to it yet. Didn’t think I was looking at the same man,” he replies, running a hand over his smooth face.

“I’ll admit, it’s a little shocking to see. Now if only we can get Daryl to get that wild mane of his trimmed, we’ll all look like the picturesque Alexandrian.” The last part is muttered somewhat bitterly, but I cover it up. “Where is Daryl, anyways?”

Rick scoffs. “You really think he’d come to one of these shindigs? All these people poking and prodding him like an animal at the zoo?”

I hum. “You’re probably right. He could at least drown himself in booze to get through it.”

“Yeah, I mentioned that. Still said, and I quote, ‘Fuck no’.”

“Sounds like him. So, who was that pretty blonde I saw here a moment ago?” I smirk when Rick’s cheeks flush and he fights back a smile.

“Her name’s Jessie. Her husband is the lead doctor here.” A snarl has curled on Rick’s mouth at the mention of her husband.

“Have I met him? I can’t remember.”

Rick shakes his head and stems his hands on his hips. “No, and I’d advise you to avoid it. He was the one to take care of your foot, but you were out for all of it.”

“Hmm. I’ll keep that in mind then. Man, I could really use a drink.”

Tauntingly, Rick lifts his tumbler to his mouth and takes a hefty swig of what I assume is bourbon. The smell wafts over to me and my mouth waters. I grumble incoherently, making Rick laugh a little. It’s a pleasant sound after so long of being down in the dumps. What isn’t pleasant is the sound of a conflict going on in the hallway by the front door. It’s Sasha who’s making a scene, accusing the people of Alexandria of essentially having their heads up their asses, though not in so many words. Then, in a whirl of dark skin and a blue dress, she hurries out of the house. Her argument has sobered me from my earlier easiness with Rick, and suddenly I’m not in the mood to party anymore.

But I can’t make a clean getaway. I’m swarmed by Alexandrians asking me about my foot, if it’ll have to be removed, and even more outrageous ideas. They stare at me like I’m some kind of spectacle who’s survived hell and back. In a way, I suppose I have, but it doesn’t stave off the feeling of claustrophobia that is quickly setting in. Abraham, the tallest of our troupe, is standing not far away and takes notice of the panicked look on my face. He hurries to my rescue and barrels through everyone, parting them like a redheaded Moses. He steers me out of the crowd and towards the front door. The night air is refreshing, and I breathe in deeply.

“I think I need to go home,” I say before turning to Abraham. I’ve only been at the party for a few minutes, but already a headache is brewing behind my eyelids. “Thanks, big guy. Don’t get too drunk in there.”

“No promises there, kiddo,” he responds with a wink. With that, I hop down the stairs and begin the long trek back to my house.

As I turn onto our street, the cherry-red end of a cigarette catches my eye. It doesn’t take long for me to recognize Daryl’s figure, which is leaning against the railing of one of the houses. I notice it isn’t the one he shares with Carol. My crutches click on the pavement of the street, and as I near, I see Daryl turn his head in my direction. Instinctively, I hobble over to him and rest the crutches on the opposite railing.

“Not in the mood for a party?” I ask him. He grunts in response. “Me neither. It’s like the people are living in a fantasy world.”

“They are. Makes me itch.”

“Sasha made a scene. Said pretty much the same thing. Sobered me up quickly,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. Daryl puffs on his cigarette and seems to hesitate a moment before he holds the open box out towards me. I quickly snatch one and catch the lighter he tosses to me.

“Thought you couldn’t drink?” I light the cigarette and inhale, tossing his lighter back to him. The smoke billows out in front of me and drifts upwards.

“I can’t. But I admit I fell into the party trap a little easily. It was Rick’s shaved face that did it.”

Daryl snorts. “Don’t look the same. Guy’s got a major baby face.”

“Bet you do too.” Fuck. Daryl’s head whips around to me and I fight to keep my cool. “If you’d shave that mane of yours.”

“Hell no,” he grouses, shaking said mane pointedly.

I lift the cigarette to my mouth, humming thoughtfully. “Whose house is this?”

“Aaron’s. He and Eric got out of tonight too. Invited me fer dinner. Aaron wants me to go recruiting with him, and he’s got a bike he said I can fix up and have.”

I arch an eyebrow. “The hell is recruiting?”

“’S what Aaron was doing when he found us. He goes out lookin’ fer people to join the community. Watches em for a while before approachin’ em.”

“Sounds downright creepy. I assume he was watching us while we were on the road?” Daryl hums in confirmation. “How long?”

“Couple days. Said he was shocked we didn’t turn on each other when shit got rough, surprised we didn’t leave ya behind like ya asked.”

I inhale deeply, recalling my not-so-proud moment of vulnerability. “Kinda glad you guys didn’t listen to me.”

He scoffs, making me feel even stupider for having made the suggestion. “Yer family. Family don’t get left behind.”

Crap. I’m not used to this weight in my chest that’s been taking up residence for a while. I pull heavily on the rest of the cigarette and flick it away. When I exhale, it’s shaky. Daryl immediately picks up on—I can tell by the straightening of his shoulders—but he says nothing. We stand in silence for a moment longer before the slight chill gets to me and raises goosebumps on my exposed arms.

“Better get in,” I mutter. I pick up my crutches and hop down the steps, pausing when Daryl keeps pace with me.

“I’ll walk ya. Goin’ that way anyways.”

I nod, and we’re off, Daryl with his slight swagger and me on my crutches, clicking down the street. We’re silent as we go, and when my house looms, Daryl stops in front of the walkway and turns to look at me.

“Thanks for walking me. Would’ve been fine.” I shrug half-heartedly, feeling slightly similar to a sixteen-year-old girl out on her first date.

“Ain’t nothin’. Night.” He begins his trek down the street, and I click up the walkway, but I hear him stop and turn. He’s chewing on his thumbnail, his eyes glistening in the dark, and the way he rakes his eyes up and down my body doesn’t go unnoticed. Then, he says gruffly, blushing, “Ya look nice.”

My jaw goes slightly slack, but he turns away and disappears into the night. I shake my head, though still dazed, and hobble up the stairs and into the house. In my bedroom, my mind is still playing Daryl’s compliment on a loop. Internally I scold myself.

“Ain’t nothin,” I grunt, mimicking Daryl’s earlier statement, as I tug the dress over my head. I can’t reach the zipper, forgetting that Maggie and Glenn are still at Deanna’s. I go to bed in a sour mood, and I complete the look of a temper tantrum by folding my arms across my chest, my eyes shut firmly. Ain’t nothing.


	12. Coward.

In the next couple of days, Denise determines that I can officially get rid of the crutches. My underarms are relieved for it, and I am ecstatic that I can now wear two shoes instead of one. The infection in my foot has cleared up, thanks to the antibiotics, but Denise keeps me on them for a few more days to be sure. The puncture wounds from the trap have closed up nicely, and they form a ring around my ankle like some kind of morbid accessory. Denise helps me with a sort of physical therapy to be sure I can rotate my ankle to its fullest extent. It’s stiff when I put weight on it, but it doesn’t hurt. It takes all of my restraint not to break out into a run just to see how far I get.

With my ankle back in business, Deanna finally gives me a job, but it isn’t one I’m happy to receive. Olivia, the heavy girl who manages the pantry, needs help keeping inventory, and I am supposedly the chosen one. I fight it, though, and persuade both Deanna and Rick, who’s become a constable of Alexandria, that I would be much more useful outside the gates than cooped inside. Rick wants to take my side, but Deanna isn’t so sure, so he proposes a trial run to see how I do. Deanna has made it clear that her eldest son, Aiden, is in charge and that I am to follow all orders.

Aiden is a pretty boy; arrogant, charming, and doesn’t have a clue as to what he is doing. Glenn, Tara, Eugene, and Noah have accompanied Aiden and I, as well as another Alexandrian named Nicholas. The familiarity of my handgun and my hatchet strapped to my body feels like home; we are milled around the gate, awaiting Aiden and Nicholas. Glenn is anxious to leave, and I don’t blame him. A body comes up beside me, and I know it’s Daryl before I even turn my head.

“Yer goin’ then?” he asks roughly. His tone tells me he’s far from happy with the arrangement, and it just serves to irritate me.

“Ankle’s fine,” I say shortly. “I’m going nuts in here. Sure you are too.” I give him a pointedly look. He glances at me briefly, and I notice he has a pack on his shoulder, his trademark crossbow in one hand. “You going out?”

He hums a confirmation, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Aaron wants to scout the area.”

“Be safe,” I mumble, stepping away as Aiden drives a van up to the gate.

I glance back at him once, and he nods. I climb into the van behind Glenn, and through the open door, I see Carol’s figure hurry to Daryl’s side, lean up, and press kiss to his cheek, dangerously close to his mouth. I slam the door closed a little harder than I intend to and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Both Carol and Daryl are staring at the back of the van and Glenn is giving me a knowing look when I turn around.

“What?” I snap as Aiden turns the engine over. The van pulls through the gates of Alexandria, and Glenn holds up his hands.

The walls of the community fade into the distance, and there is no conversation between any of us except for Aiden, who’s barking out orders. I share an eye roll with Glenn, and a sinking feeling settles in my gut.

“So Candace,” Aiden calls from the front of the van. His eyebrows are raised suggestively. “You single?”

I scoff and my eyes roll to the ceiling. “Yep, and it’s gonna stay that way.”

“Aw, come on. I bet we’d get along real well.”

“Fat chance. Now shut up and drive.” Fortunately, he lets the mostly one-sided conversation drop, and a little while later we pull up to a warehouse. Supposedly, we’re to gather supplies to help Eugene and the others fix the solar panels inside Alexandria. Aiden parks the van, and we all pile out and gather on the sidewalk in front of the doors.

“All right, listen up,” Aiden calls over us. “We’re gonna do this quick and quiet, got it? Mullet knows what we need, so everyone cover him. He goes down, Alexandria’s fucked.” He has a point, but he’s still very green in his experiences with the outside world. He doesn’t take his own advice and goes into the warehouse stepping on glass and debris.

“Hey,” I bark in a whisper. He whips his head around and nails me with a glare. I glare back. “Ya wanna keep it down? You’re stepping on everything in here. We don’t know what’s here yet so watch those big feet of yours.”

Aiden turns to face me fully and leans his face close to mine; I can feel his breath on my face, but I don’t recoil. His eyes are set in a hard glare.

“Listen, girly, I’m in charge. I know what I’m doing, so you’d do best to follow my lead and keep quiet.”

I make a point of rolling my eyes and sighing before I side-step him and continue on. I crouch as we move along the aisles, and here and there Eugene is plucking items off the shelves. Aiden breaks off from me, and I’m thankful for the space. I’m not sure what other equipment is needed, so instead I choose to be a lookout.

A couple aisles over, gunfire breaks out, and I rush to the scene. As I’m rounding the corner, my gaze locks on Aiden, who’s firing his gun at a downed and armored walker. The walker groans from the ground, and when Aiden fires another shot, the walker explodes, sending debris, Aiden, and myself crashing against shelving. My ears are ringing and my back is sore from where it made contact with a shelf. I stand on shaky legs and my stomach plummets when I take in Aiden. The force of the blast has thrown him backwards, impaling him on a shelf.

I can hear coughing from a few aisles over, and Glenn calls out to us. I answer as I run to Aiden, who’s still breathing. Glenn intercepts and grabs my arm, tugging me into an office. Inside, Eugene has Tara, also unconscious, lying on the desk, her head bleeding. Nicholas paces and sweats profusely, scared out of his wits. I struggle against Glenn.

“He’s still alive!” I tell him, breaking away from his grip.

“We need to go!” Nicholas exclaims, his hands in his curly hair. “We need to leave! We need to take care of Tara.”

“What about Aiden?” I ask, throwing an arm out to gesture behind me. “We can’t leave him there.”

“He’s dead! He’s dead, and we need to leave!” Nicholas rushes toward Tara and, paired with Eugene, hauls Tara up to carry her back out to the van. Glenn and I make to follow them, but I look to Aiden one last time. He’s moving, coming to, and I look back at Glenn.

“We can’t leave him,” I say imploringly. Glenn hesitates, but then he nods, and together we dart back to Aiden and each take hold of an arm. Blood drips from his mouth, and I know it isn’t a good sign, but I still don’t give up. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

“You need to keep quiet,” Glenn tells him as the telltale sign of the dead echo behind us. We struggle to pull Aiden from the shelf, but he lets out a small shout as his body protests.

“You need to go,” he says through a mouthful of blood. “You need to.” Glenn and I share a desperate look; neither of us have the will to leave him behind. We turn back when he starts speaking again: “It’s my fault...I got them killed...My fault...”

“Come on, Glenn,” I urge, pulling again on Aiden’s body. He cries out again, and the dead behind us are riled up now, making their way to us. Aiden’s body doesn’t move, and once more he pleads for us to go. I look dejectedly at Glenn, realizing that Aiden isn’t getting out of this, and Glenn nods. He turns to go, but I hesitate. Even though Aiden is a cocky bastard, he still doesn’t deserve this fate. I grab his hand and squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”

He merely nods, his expression one of acceptance, and I break away from him, darting to avoid the walkers that are now stumbling their way down the aisle. As I near the door, Aiden’s screams of pain bid me goodbye, and mere sound of it sends chills down my spine. At the van, an unconscious Tara is laid out on the floor, and Glenn and Nicholas are glaring daggers at one another.

“Let’s go,” I shout, rousing both of them, and climb into the back of the van.

The ride back is incredibly tense. Glenn is driving, but every so often he glares at Nicholas in the passenger seat. I find myself glaring at the back of his curly head too. When we return to Alexandria, before the van comes to a halt, I am out of the back like a bat out of hell. My emotions have pent up far too long and if I don’t get away from Nicholas’s smarmy face I just might deck him. A small crowd has gathered, voices raising as they take in Tara’s state and notice that we are short one. I notice Daryl has returned as well, but I can’t bother to look at him or anyone.

As I’m storming by the hunter, his blue eyes trained on me, Nicholas calls out to me, “How could you just leave him like that?” Without missing a beat, I spin on my heel and charge him, shoving him roughly up against the side of the van. Commotion breaks out behind me, but all I’m focused on is getting my hands around Nicholas’s weasel throat. Nicholas has thrown his arms up, attempting to block my blows. A pair of arms wrap around my waist and tug me backwards off of Nicholas. They unwind from me, but a hand remains on my shoulder in case I rush him again. He has a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“You left him,” I spit. The hand on my shoulder flinches. “You kept saying he was dead even though I told you he was alive! You left Aiden, you fucking coward!” The smirk remains on Nicholas’s face and I take two steps forward, shoving the hand off my shoulder, and I reel my arm back. My fist connects solidly with Nicholas’s jaw in a right hook, and he hits the pavement hard. The arms are back around me but I break free from them in another attempt to storm off.

No one stops me this time as I make my way to my house. My gait has turned stiff, having forgotten that I am fresh off my crutches and that just an hour ago I was blown up. I wince as my back protests the walk up the stairs and into the foyer. I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes. I feel faint from the emotions swirling through me, unrelenting. I am angry more than anything; angry with Nicholas and with Aiden, angry with myself. Still seething, I head upstairs for a long, hot shower to try and get the anger to go away.

As soon as the hot water hits the hand I punched Nicholas with, I hiss. My knuckles are split open and bleeding, turning the water pink. I ignore it for now and stand under the shower, willing my anger to fade. It sort of works. By the time I step out, I’m far less angry, though I’m still simmering. It was so much easier when I had no one to care about. Granted, I didn’t know Aiden, much less really cared for him, but still he didn’t deserve the fate he was dealt. Nicholas’s smug face shows itself in my mind and my palm itches to punch him again. I curl my fingers into a fist, stretching the scrapes on my knuckles, and release them. The scrapes are bleeding again, but I hardly pay attention to it as I wrap a towel around myself and cross the hall towards my bedroom.

I head for the dresser, and as I turn, I jump, nearly dropping the towel.

“Jesus fuck, Daryl,” I hiss. “Can’t just sneak up on people like that.” The hunter is seated on my bed, elbows on his knees with his head resting in his hands. He peers up at me through his curtain of dark hair, and then his gaze drops. A full-body flush takes over as I realize I am very exposed to him at the moment and goosebumps rise on my arms.

“What happened?” His eyes are downcast and away from me now. I shake my head and reach into my drawer for a pair of underwear, socks, and some new clothes. I settle for jean shorts and a grey long-sleeved shirt.

“Don’t want to talk about it,” I mutter, my dark mood reappearing. Suddenly, I forget that I’m in just a towel. I hold up the clothes. “Do you mind?” His narrowed eyes just stare at me, and I groan before storming back towards the bathroom. I make a point to slam the door and hurriedly shove my limbs into my new clothes. When I return, towel-drying my hair, Daryl is still there, and he gives me a look that says he isn’t going anywhere soon.

“Aiden’s dead.”

“I know. That ain’t what I’m askin’ about.”

I narrow my eyes back at him. “Then what are you asking about?”

“You. What happened with you? Never seen ya so angry.”

I bristle. “No offense, but you haven’t exactly known me all that long.” Daryl doesn’t flinch from my harsh, defensive tone. Dammit. Instead, he levels me with that patient stare of his. I sigh and sit on the other side of the bed, mimicking his position. “I don’t really want to talk about it. Not until I can figure it out myself.”

“Was like you once,” he mutters after a few beats of silence. “At the beginnin’. Lost ma brother, lost Carol’s little girl. Thought it was easier to pretend I didn’t care about anyone else but me. Separated myself for a while, till I realized ya can’t do things without people anymore.” Out of my peripheral, I see his head turn in my direction, probably to gauge my reaction. “Yer bleedin’.”

“I’m fine,” I reply shortly. I’m slightly miffed that Daryl is able to figure me out seemingly effortlessly. I’m losing my touch, I guess. I look down at my knuckles which have started dripping again.

“Ya ain’t weak just ‘cause ya care. Took me a long time to realize that.” The bed shifts and Daryl exits the room. I think it’s for good initially, but he returns with a dampened washcloth and a first aid kit. He kneels in front of me and pulls my hand towards him. I hardly feel it as he dabs at the blood with the washcloth. I pointedly keep my eyes away from him, worried that he’ll see how much his words affect me. I’m not used to caring about people. Sure, I stayed with Gabriel, and I guess I care somewhat for him, but the people of Daryl’s group have become something more to me. They’ve become my family, refused to give up on me, trust me with their lives. I’m not used to that responsibility, even though I know I’ll protect them with everything I have. But the thought of letting them take care of me too scares the living daylights out of me. Daryl is perceptive, and I know he’ll pick up on that right away if I look at him.

So I don’t.

He applies butterfly bandages to the worst of my scrapes, and when he’s finished he doesn’t let go of my hand. His is rough with callouses and dwarfs mine, and the contact makes me uncomfortable. I glance at our clasped hands and I can feel Daryl’s eyes on me, but I refuse to make eye contact. I’m afraid of what’ll happen if I do. So I pull my hand out of his and rise from the bed to put some distance between us. I can tell I’ve hurt him just by the way the air in the room shifts, but he doesn’t stop me as I make my escape downstairs. Goddamn, I could use a drink.


	13. Demoted.

Deanna requests an audience with me the next day, and I already know that it’s about her eldest son’s untimely death. I wonder if Nicholas has already tried to get his hooks in her and spill some sob story that paints him as the noble one. I’m awake annoyingly early, and so I dress in new clothes—another thing I won’t get used to anytime soon—and I go outside to sit on the porch. Maggie and Glenn are sitting on the steps, and they both turn to greet me. I sit on Glenn’s left side.

“Deanna ask for you?” he asks. I merely nod and he presses his lips into a thin line. “Me too. Should be fine, though. We can corroborate each other’s story.”

“Mm. How’s Tara?”

Glenn sighs and squints out at the wall guarding Alexandria. “Still hasn’t woken up yet. She got tossed pretty hard. How are you doing? I know you were pretty close to that blast.”

I shrug. My back isn’t as sore, down to a dull ache. “I’m fine.”

“Watched you lay out Nicholas. Glad you did it. He was way too smarmy. He was pretty pissed afterwards, though.”

“I’m not afraid of Nicholas,” I scoff. “He’s a rat. A cowardly rat. Think Deanna’s ready for us?”

“Probably as good a time as any.” The three of us rise, and Maggie walks with us to Deanna’s house. The former congresswoman is waiting on her porch, looking the picture of southern hospitality as she sips on a glass of lemonade. She rises from the porch swing she’s seated on and smiles tightly at both Glenn and I.

“Good, you’re early. Come in.” Glenn briefly kisses Maggie and follows me up into the house. Deanna does not offer us any beverages, which is fine by me. To Glenn’s and my surprise, Rick is seated on one of the chairs in the living room in a sheriff’s uniform. I suppose my instincts were correct in that regard.

Deanna separates Glenn and me, choosing to speak with me first. Glenn remains in the hallway and Deanna closes the door. Rick isn’t smiling at me, opting to play neutral in this situation. I take a seat on the pristine cream-colored couch, smoothing my hands over my thighs. Deanna lowers herself into the chair across from me and folds her hands on her lap.

“I assume you know why you’re here,” she starts. I sit rigidly on the couch, perched on the edge like I’m going to need to make a quick getaway.

“Yes.”

“We want to hear your side of the story about what happened...to my son.” It’s as she trails off that I see the exhaustion and grief in her eyes. Aiden’s death has hit her harder than she’s letting on. Brave woman, but I’m still on edge.

I hesitate to say his name. “Aiden led us into the warehouse, we broke off, and Aiden started shooting. I ran over to see what was up, and all of a sudden there was an explosion. I got knocked backwards, as did Tara, and that’s when I’m assuming she hit her head—”

“You assume she hit her head?” Deanna interjects, narrowing her eyes slightly. I resist the urge to roll mine.

“Yes. I was a bit dazed myself when I was pretty much blown up so I didn’t see what exactly happened. When I got some balance back the first thing I did was check on Aiden. He was...impaled on a couple pieces of metal shelving. He didn’t look good but before I could do anything Glenn pulled me into an office and that’s when I saw what condition Tara was in. Her head was bleeding, and Nicholas kept wailing that we needed to leave. I kept yelling at him that Aiden was still alive. I could see him breathing. Nicholas wasn’t listening, and he and Eugene picked up Tara and got her out of there. I didn’t feel right leaving Aiden when I knew he was still alive, so Glenn tried to help me get him down. But every time we pulled him, he kept yelling, and it attracted walkers. He told us to go. I didn’t want to, but I knew we’d all die if we didn’t. Before I left, I told him I was sorry because I was. I am.”

When I finish, Deanna’s features are pinched, and I know it isn’t easy to hear a second recounting of her son’s brutal death. I let out a shaky sigh, the storytelling and the memory hitting me harder than I’d like it to. I watch Deanna hurriedly swipe underneath her eyes; I feel terrible for telling her the gruesome details, but she’s the one who asked. Beside her, Rick has remained silent, and he looks at me sadly. I know he can see how much this is affecting me, and I do my best to correct my poker face. I’m not sure it works, though.

“I think that’ll be all, Candace,” Rick says softly, glancing between me and the struggling Deanna, but the other woman holds up her hand, sniffling once.

“I’m not quite finished. Your telling doesn’t quite match up with Nicholas’s.” Of course it doesn’t. “Not to mention, we haven’t yet discussed your assaulting him yesterday.”

I cross my arms over my chest somewhat defensively. “Nicholas is, for lack of a better term, an asswipe. He’s a liar, too. He wanted to leave your son there, even when he knew he was still alive. He’s a coward, and because of him we were unable to save Aiden. Yesterday, I admit my emotions were running a little high and it set me off when Nicholas said what he did. I could have handled it better, but I’m not sorry I did it.”

Deanna has regained her composure, and she meets my stare eye-to-eye. Her back is ramrod straight, and I am unsure whether or not she actually buys my story.

“After the events of yesterday, I think it would serve you better to help Olivia in the pantry. She’s waiting for you.” Then, she releases me. I all but leap off the couch and out the door, temporarily ignoring the part where I’m off run duty. Glenn leans against the wall opposite the door, and I jerk my head at him, silently telling him it’s his turn. He nods in reply and walks into the room slowly, hands in pockets and shoulders hunched like a kicked puppy.

When the door closes again, I take a moment to take a deep breath. While I am not surprised to learn that Nicholas has tried to paint himself in a positive light, I can’t help the anger coursing through me at the thought. That, and the fact that I’m going to be further cooped up inside these walls. My hands curl into fists at my sides as I exit the house and step onto the street. People are out and about with their kids and their pets, and I’m surprised when a few of them wave at me. I offer a limp wave in return, before making a left and heading towards the pantry.

Olivia is, indeed, waiting for me, and when I walk through the door, she hands me a clipboard and directs me to the armory. I make a small face at the fact that she’s just handing over the armory to me, a complete stranger, who could easily assemble any weapon they’ve got stocked and go on a homicidal rampage. Fortunately, for them, I haven’t gone that far off the deep end just yet. The armory is impressive; combined with our group’s guns, there is a big enough arsenal to successfully stave off a herd of the dead. I take stock of every weapon, its caliber, and the appropriate ammunition for every gun. Then, I take a tally of how many of each weapon we have and how much ammo. It takes me a couple of hours to get the hang of the job, having never had to take any kind of inventory in my former life, but by the time I’m done and have double-checked everything, I’m absolutely positive that it is not the job for me.

It's tedious and frustrating, and everyone who goes out needs to sign out a weapon and bring it back when they’re finished. It’s halfway through the afternoon when Aaron and Daryl enter the armory, looking to sign out a couple of guns. Daryl seems surprised to see me in here, and I give him an impatient look.

“Whatchu doin’ here?” he asks in that rough voice.

“Deanna demoted me,” I mutter. He moves towards the rifles that hang on the back wall. “Apparently, my bubbly personality won’t be needed on supply runs any longer.” Daryl snorts and tries to cover up a crooked smile as I glare at him. He doesn’t succeed, and my stupid brain thinks a smile is a good look for him.

“That because you laid Nicholas out flat?” Aaron asks, fiddling with a handgun. I haven’t had too many opportunities to speak to, much less thank, the man for providing me with antibiotics back in the barn. He turns to me with a wry smile, and I let a small one through, too. “Good. That kid needed a good clock to the face.”

“Happy to serve. By the way, Aaron, I never got to thank you for, uh, helping me out back in the barn. The others told me you gave me some antibiotics and frankly, I’m not sure I’d be here if it weren’t for you.”

“Oh, I think you would’ve been fine, but you’re welcome. You’ve got a good group of people here.” I glance at Daryl briefly; the hunter is picking up boxes of ammo, trying to stay out of our conversation.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Shame you got kicked off run duty, though.”

I shrug one shoulder. “It was technically a trial run, but they’re going to find out real quick that I don’t do well cooped up inside. Someone else might get decked.”

Aaron chuckles and signs out a rifle and a handgun. Beside him, Daryl takes just a handgun; his trusty crossbow is strapped across his back.

“Well, maybe I can work my magic and see if Deanna would let you become a recruiter. You could come out with Daryl and me.” Daryl’s gaze snaps from Aaron to me expectantly.

I chuckle lowly. “Not sure I’m the type of person you want trying to bring in new people. First impressions aren’t exactly my forte.”

“Well, you let me know if you change your mind. Oh, and since we haven’t had all that much time to get to know each other, why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? Matter of fact, Daryl, you come too. Eric is dying to meet both of you.” I take a moment to think it over, and Aaron notices my hesitation. “I’m making spaghetti.”

“Sold,” is my immediate reply. Aaron chuckles and turns questioningly to Daryl. I lift my eyebrows expectantly, and finally, with a glance between Aaron and me, he shrugs.

“Why not?”

“Great! How about sunset? Daryl and I will make sure we’re back here before then. See you tonight, Candace.” With that, the two recruiters leave the armory, and Daryl gives me one last backward glance before he’s gone.


	14. Good Wine.

For the first time since the world ended, I am nervous.

Nervous over what? I’m not exactly sure, but the idea of sitting down and having dinner with Aaron, Eric, and Daryl has my palms sweating. When I’m finished at the pantry, I head home to change my shirt and wash the sweat from my face. I sit on my bed, waiting for sundown, my nerves have me fidgeting, so I decide to just head over early. The streets are near bare, mostly everyone inside enjoying their own meals. I shove my hands in my pockets and make my way down the street, until I stop and remember that I have no idea where Aaron and Eric live. I backtrack to Rick’s and knock on the door.

He’s in the middle of buttoning his shirt when he answers, confusion on his face.

“Do you know where Aaron lives?” I ask in a rush. He nods, finishes with his shirt, and steps out onto the porch. His old sheriff’s star is pinned above the breast pocket. “So you were a cop before all this.”

He nods as he leads me towards Aaron’s. “A sheriff’s deputy. Got shot in the line of duty and went into a coma. I woke up to all this.”

“Shit,” I mutter. “What a way to find out civilization is gone, huh?”

“You’re telling me. To make matters worse, when I left the hospital, a kid hit me in the face with a shovel. He thought I was one of the walkers. He and his dad took me in, told me what happened. I parted ways with them when I went looking for my wife and Carl.”

“Where’s this man now?”

Rick sighs, his boots scuffing on the pavement. “Not sure. He could be dead for all I know.”

“Sorry to hear about him, and I’m sorry you got hit with a shovel.” I hold back laughter, but Rick lets a chuckle through.

“Well, this is Aaron’s,” he says, and I notice we’ve stopped in front of a house that’s laid out exactly like all the others. “Have a good night, Candace. And stay out of trouble.” There’s a knowing gleam in his eye when he sends me a backwards look as he heads off for his nightly duties. I’m alone in the street, and talking with Rick had staved off my nerves, but as I look up at the house, a light on in the living room window, they’re back in full force.

“Get it together,” I hiss to myself. With a self-assured nod, I head up to the porch and knock. A skinny blonde man answers the door, and a wide smile takes up his entire face.

“You must be Candace!” he exclaims. He waves his hands in a ‘come here’ motion. “Come in, come in! Aaron’s told me quite a bit about you.”

“Huh. That’s surprising, considering I haven’t really spoken more than a few sentences to him since I’ve been here.” Eric’s smile falters for a moment, and I inwardly wince. I’m not used to this. “Uh, you know, since I was brought in unconscious and all that.”

“Right, right, of course. Aaron and Daryl aren’t back yet,” he explains as he catches me looking around. “They should be back soon. Come into the kitchen. Care for a glass of wine?”

I groan. “Yes please. I’m finally off those damn antibiotics.” Something smells wonderful as we step into the kitchen. A massive pot is simmering on the stove, and my nose tells me it’s spaghetti sauce. Eric opens a bottle of red and pours me a hefty glass. “Thank you.”

“So, Candace, Aaron tells me you had a pretty bad ankle injury. How’d that happen?” Eric skips over to the stove after pouring a glass of wine for himself. I take a long sip, relishing in the fruitiness and the way it warms a path down my throat to my stomach.

“Got my foot caught in a bear trap, if you can believe it.” Eric’s jaw drops. “Yeah. Wasn’t exactly looking where I was going and then [i]snap[/i]. Damn thing closed right around my ankle. I’m lucky it wasn’t broken and that I didn’t get tetanus. Thing was rusty as hell.”

“Crap, I bet that hurt.”

“Like a motherfu—like hell.”

“So how did you come by Rick’s group? Aaron said he said you weren’t always with them.” Eric drinks deeply from his wine, and the more I drink from mine, the more comfortable I feel.

“I wasn’t. I met them when I came back from a quick hunt. Left that morning, just Gabriel and me, and when I came back there was a huge group of strangers leering at me. It was kind of intimidating. Especially Rick with that massive opossum on his face. Daryl was pretty brooding, too. All dark and standoffish.”

“The hell you callin’ broody?” The rough voice makes me jump, and I face the doorway, where Daryl and Aaron are both standing. Aaron breaks away to greet Eric with a kiss, and I politely avert my eyes, focusing them on the hunter.

“I’m calling you broody,” I scoff jokingly. “Eric asked about the day you guys showed up at the church.”

“Ain’t broody,” he grumbles, setting his crossbow down on the floor in the hallway. Aaron hands him a glass of amber alcohol.

“You are so,” Aaron supplies with a wink in my direction. “You stick out like a sore thumb here.” Daryl scoffs and plops himself into one of the kitchen chairs and doesn’t reply. I can’t tell if he’s offended by the look on his face, but considering he hasn’t snapped anything in reply, I assume it doesn’t bother him.

“So, Candace, how are you liking Alexandria?” Aaron asks. At the sink, Eric is dumping the pasta through a colander. I hesitate, and I know Daryl is watching me, waiting to see how I respond.

“It’s definitely different...” I trail off. Aaron merely waits for me to finish. “It’s mostly a good different.”

“And what makes it bad?” His tone isn’t offended, merely curious. I shrug and drain my wine. Aaron is there to pour me another glass.

“You just all seem so sheltered here, in your own little Eden, and you’ve forgotten what it’s like outside those walls.” Aaron’s eyebrows raise at my bluntness. I’m not sure where the bitter edge came from, but I can’t bring myself to apologize or backtrack. I do amend my statement, though, with: “Maybe not you, considering you go outside the walls more often than anyone else.”

Eric steps up to the table with the massive bowl of pasta in his hands and sets it down in the center. Then he looks from me to Aaron and says, “I like her. Shall we?” I’m seated next to Daryl, with Aaron and Eric across from us.

“I bet it’s a bit of a culture shock to you all,” Aaron says, continuing with the previous conversation. His eyes shift from me to the hunter beside me. “Power, hot showers, a hot meal, alcohol. How long were you all on the road?”

“I was only with Gabriel for about a month or so before Rick’s group showed up,” I reply. “Before that, I was with a group from the very beginning.” Against my will, my mind strays back to the beginning of the end, but I chase the memories away with another sip of wine. Having abstained from alcohol for quite a while, besides the two shots offered to me by Abraham some time ago, the wine hits me faster than normal, but I don’t turn down a third glass.

“Was with Rick from the beginnin’,” Daryl says when Aaron looks at him. I’m relieved that the topic of my former group will not be sticking around. The hunter straightens his shoulders, a haunted shadow in his eyes. “Holed up a few places. Maggie’s farm, then a prison when that got overrun. Spent the winter and most of the spring on the road ‘fore we found it. Stayed there for pro’lly a year, had a good life. Then we got chased out by some psycho. Just been wanderin’ since then till ya found us. Probably a good three, four months.”

Eric whistles lowly and glances at both of us sympathetically. “Well, we hope you can manage to make a good life here at Alexandria. We got here right at the beginning of everything, so we got extremely lucky.” In my head, I scoff disbelievingly. [i]I’ll say.[/i]

“So, uh, Daryl,” Eric says after a few beats of silence, mischief in his eyes, “what’s goin’ on with you and Carol?”

I try not to choke on my bite of spaghetti at the chosen topic and wash the bite down with more wine. Daryl looks extremely uncomfortable now, and I’m not sure if it’s because there [i]is[/i] something going on or if this line of questioning just makes him uncomfortable.

“Why ya think that?” he asks gruffly. His tone and body posture are immediately on the defensive. I sit back in my chair, my wine glass in my hand, and try not to stare too intently at him.

“Well, she’s always following you around. Normally wherever you are, she’s not far behind. So, is there something going on there?” Eric wags his eyebrows, and I snort and begin giggling before I can stop it. The image of Eric teasing Daryl with wiggling eyebrows is undeniably amusing, but my giggling comes to an abrupt halt when Daryl’s eyes suddenly shift to me. A full-body flush breaks out over my skin, though I doubt it’s from the wine, and I have to look away. Eric doesn’t notice the exchange, but Aaron sure does. The smirk he gives me is almost indiscernible, but I catch it.

Daryl’s still looking at me when he says, “Nah, ain’t nothin’ goin’ on.”

After dinner, we move into the living room, each of us, except Daryl, with newly-refilled glasses of alcohol. Though I have my reservations about this place, I’m not about to pass up free wine. Besides, I realize I’m tired of being on the alert all the time, tired of having something to worry about. Perhaps it’s the wine making my inhibitions fuzzy, but I can’t find it me to care. Eric shows me his expansive license plate collection, as well as a number of vinyl records. He doesn’t have a record player, but he enjoys having them just the same.

“It’s a sense of normalcy,” he explains, swirling his wine in his glass. I’m not the only one who’s feeling the effects of the wine. Eric sways on his feet as he leads me to the bookcase beside the fireplace. Daryl and Aaron have taken up residence on the armchair and the couch, chatting quietly, though it’s mostly Aaron.

I browse through Eric’s CD collection, a player for which he does have, and I squeak in excitement as I pull a disc off the shelf. I feel Eric leaning over to see what I have.

“Wouldn’t peg you for a [i]Lord of the Rings[/i] fan,” he says honestly.

“I read the books when I was a kid. Then I fell in love with the movies, mostly because of the amazing soundtrack.” I flip the CD case over in my hands. It’s the soundtrack from the first movie, and my heart tugs painfully as my mind goes back to Before. My voice is soft when I explain, “My dad and I would have marathons of this movie once a month before he got sick. We’d pick a weekend and I’d go home or he’d come to my apartment and we’d watch the extended versions together. He’d stay over or I would, and we’d get through all of them in two days.” My eyes are misty as I focus on the titles on the back of the CD, and Eric lays a hand on my shoulder comfortingly.

“You can have it,” he says softly, gesturing to the CD. “I don’t listen to it very often and it clearly has some sentimentality for you. I’d be glad if you took it.”

I smile sadly at him, mentally cursing the wine for making me such an emotional sap. “Thanks, Eric.” He nods, and then moves to the CD player to throw in some jazz disc.

“Okay, enough sadness! Candace, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?” Eric bows exaggeratedly, and I start giggling madly but I shake my head.

“Oh no. You’re going to need to get me way drunker than this to get me to dance. I have two left feet. What about Aaron?” I grin over at the other man, feeling wonderfully at ease with these two. Without thinking, I walk backwards and perch on the arm of the chair Daryl is seated in. His dark figure contrasts so starkly against the light grey fabric, and an empty glass is clasped in his hands between his legs.

Eric shoots his boyfriend a look, and I erupt into even more giggles when Aaron stands and starts dancing goofily to the song playing from the stereo. My sides are hurting as I watch them twirl in silly circles, and I nearly spill my wine as I lift the glass to my mouth. Beside me, Daryl is strong and silent, watching the three of us with an unrecognizable look on his face. When the song switches to something slower, Aaron and Eric come together for a slow dance. I look down at my lap, over at the fireplace, anywhere but at the two men slow dancing in the living room. I feel as if I’m intruding on an intimate moment, and I just about jump out of my skin as I’m nudged in the side.

Daryl peers up at me through the dark hair in his face and jerks his head towards the door. He no doubt feels the same awkward intrusiveness that I do. There is a deep flush on his face and for some reason it makes me blush too. Slowly, he rises from the chair; I leave my wine glass on the side table and hesitantly accept the hand the hunter holds out for me, the CD Eric gave me in my empty hand. The two dancing men are too involved in their own little world to notice us, but we bid them quiet goodnights anyways. Together, Daryl and I exit out the front door, and I relish in the coolness of the night against my flushed skin.

Daryl is slow to let go of my hand, a fact that, even in my state, doesn’t go unnoticed. Strangely, I miss the contact. Walking proves to be a bit difficult for me and I uneasily follow Daryl down the stairs, trying not to sway too much.

“Yer a lightweight,” Daryl mutters as we walk up the street. Apparently my inebriated state has not gone completely undetected. “And yer a giggly drunk.”

I start giggling again and a small smile graces Daryl’s face in the dark. “It’s been a while since I’ve been tipsy. And you should smile more. You’re too broody.” I grin at him before turning my attention back to my feet, trying to keep them straight.

“Ain’t broody.” Amusement tinges his tone as he bumps his shoulder with mine lightly. In my state, I’m thrown slightly off balance but Daryl’s arm shoots out and he curls a hand around my bicep to right me. “Jesus, girl. Ya had three glasses.”

“Four,” I correct. “I had four glasses. And it was good wine.” Daryl just grunts, and I notice he hasn’t removed his hand from my arm. Instead, he slowly moves his hand down my arm to my wrist before hesitantly entwining our hands. I can feel the discomfort radiating off of him like heat from the sun, waiting for rejection, so to ease him, I tighten my grip on his hand. Against my will my stomach is aflutter with rambunctious butterflies, and the feeling is so alien I nearly pull my hand back.

Our walk is silent, though I have so many thoughts buzzing in my head, and we come to a stop on the sidewalk in front of the walkway. The one that bursts from my mouth is the offer for Daryl to come inside. I’m not even sure where in the crevices of my mind the invitation has come from, and Daryl seems reluctant to answer. I stand a foot away from him, our hands still entwined between us. He’s chewing on his lip, glancing from the sidewalk to me and back. Tentatively he takes a step forward and closes the distance between us. His lip is still between his teeth as he looks down at me, and his gaze is so intense that I feel incredibly vulnerable. Then he pulls his hand from mine and lifts it to brush his fingers across my cheek. My eyes flutter instinctively, but I keep them open and locked on his.

“Think ya better go in,” he finally says, his voice low and husky. It does wonders for the butterflies in my stomach despite the fact that I was just rejected. Instead of feeling hurt, I merely lift my hand to cover his, where it rests against my cheek. Tomorrow I’ll decide that his saying no was for the better. With one last squeeze to his fingers, I take a step backwards and turn to head up into the house. I glance back at Daryl when I’m on the porch. His hands are shoved in his pockets and he’s watching me through that curtain of hair. He nods slowly, just once, before he turns and heads off down the street.

When he’s gone, I release a breath I wasn’t even aware I was holding, and head inside, determining a shower is just what I need to clear my head.


	15. Do It.

It’s a dull ache in the front of my skull that wakes me up the next morning. I groan, remembering that wine never was kind to me in terms of a hangover. The sun is streaming between my closed curtains, and I shift in the bed. I glance down at myself, vaguely remembering getting out of the shower and plopping face-first into the mattress still wet and nude. The sheets are cold on my bare skin as I roll onto my back, my stomach roiling with the movement. I curse when I remember the events of the night before—dinner with Aaron, Eric, and Daryl, the CD Eric gave me, having too much wine, Daryl walking me home, inviting Daryl inside...

I groan again and close my eyes, pressing the heels of my hands into them. The girlish side of me is overthinking Daryl’s declination of coming inside, wondering if it was because he isn’t into me or because I was far from sober. Leave it to me to suddenly have boy issues at the end of the world. [i]Stupid.[/i]

I force myself to sit up and push the nagging thoughts away. Swinging my bare legs over the side of the bed, I keep myself covered with the sheet as I stand and make my way to my dresser to get dressed. I replace the sheet on the bed, tucking in the ends, and make my way downstairs. Maggie and Glenn are awake with cups of instant coffee in their hands at the island. They greet me with good mornings and knowing smiles as I make my way to the coffee pot. The instant coffee is bitter, especially without the luxury of cream and sugar, but it keeps my hangover at bay.

“What?” I finally ask, risking a look at both of them. Glenn averts his eyes while Maggie leans over and balances her chin in her hand.

“Did you have fun?” she asks teasingly, a knowing glint in her eyes. I sip heavily from my coffee and hesitate in answering, wondering just how much they know about the previous night.

So I ask, “How much do you know?”

“Well,” Maggie starts, smirking, “we know you attended a dinner with Aaron and his boyfriend and a certain hunter. We also know that you were less than sober and that said certain hunter walked you home, hand-in-hand might I add.”

I lay my head on the island with a groan. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Sounds like you have a crush on our resident hunter,” Maggie teases with a smirk. I lift my head.

“I’ve hardly spoken a paragraph to the man,” I deadpan. “I need to go.”

I can’t focus on inventory when I get to the pantry. Between my hangover and my mind replaying the events of the previous night, I’m recounting everything at least twice. Stupid inventory, stupid hangover, stupid wine, stupid Daryl… Stupid, stupid, stupid. I can’t even pinpoint when my stupid mind betrayed me and started thinking of Daryl in other ways. We hadn’t spent all that much time together, much less spoken to one another. He keeps himself on the outskirts of the group, totally belonging but still keeping his distance. In the former world, I can’t say I’d look twice at a man like Daryl, but now I can’t keep my mind from wandering back to him.

Perhaps it isn’t all that crazy to have this…attraction to him. Daryl has his own gravity field, and I’ve been caught up in its current, even though I’m trying hard to fight the pull. Pieces of me know it’s useless, but the more stubborn side of me won’t give up. Caring for people in this new world makes us vulnerable, and vulnerability makes us weak. I can’t afford to be weak.

But I’m tired, exhausted to my limit from keeping myself closed off to anyone except myself. Maybe Daryl is feeling this way, too. Maybe he’s feeling so fed up with staying on the outside just like I am. It’s terrifying to come to this conclusion, but I’m not in the least as put off by it as I imagined I’d be.

It isn’t just Daryl whom I care for—it’s his entire group, no matter how much I try and deny it. Rick and his band of survivors have accepted me without knowing fully where I came from or what I’d done—everyone has had to cross lines to survive now—and within their group I’d found something I wasn’t sure I’d find again: a home. I am at peace with these people, talking and joking like we’re all old friends and weren’t brought together by death and destruction, and just the idea of peace has me balking at the hand that feeds me. It is unnerving how quickly I have settled within this group, how I’ve evolved from a shell of a woman to a survivor with a conscience, with the ability to care for other people, with the desire to keep them safe at all costs. Is this what a family feels like?

I’m so caught up in my thoughts that I don’t hear Olivia until she shakes me. I jump a mile, the clipboard in my hands clattering to the floor. She’s looking at me like she’s looking at a stray dog, unsure if I’m going to snap at her if she reaches out.

“There’s been a situation,” she tells me, her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “Rick went on a rampage. He’s been locked up for now but there’s going to be a meeting tonight. Deanna wants his group there.”

“Rampage? Meeting? What happened? What’s the meeting for?” I ask hurriedly, feeling the confusion rising.

“I don’t know the full story, but Rick and Pete, our doctor, were fighting in the street until Rick pulled a gun on Pete. I don’t know where he got one since you’ve been taking inventory.” I ignore her accusing tone. “Michonne ended up knocking him out and they took him to a cell. The meeting is to decide whether to let Rick stay or exile him.”

My anger flares to the surface. “Exile him? Rick wouldn’t go off like that without a good goddamn reason. If they need me there to back him up, I will be. I’m done here.” I brush aggressively by her, once again tucking away into my mind. What was that I said about protecting people at all costs?

I storm down the street, catching sight of Eric striding down the sidewalk. He falters when he takes in my purposeful strides and waits for me. He walks by my side, matching my pace, when I catch up with him, wordlessly leading me to where Rick is being imprisoned. The cell is homemade in the basement of one of the houses, complete with jailer bars and a lone mattress, upon which my fearless leader sits despondently. Michonne is there already, her defined arms crossed over her chest as she glares at the sheriff. She barely spares me a glance when I come up beside her. Eric has remained at the top of the stairs, and overhead I hear his footsteps traveling away from the door.

“Where’d you get the gun?” I demand, curling my hands around the bars of the cell. Rick is propped against the wall, numerous butterfly bandages keeping his wounds sealed, his arms resting limply on his knees.

“Had Carol swipe it from the armory,” comes his quiet reply. He digs a hand into his eye tiredly and blinks up at me. “Surprised you didn’t notice.”

I suck my bottom lip between my teeth. My mind was so busy this morning that I [i]hadn’t[/i] noticed, and that was on me. When I had arrived, two guns had been signed out by Aaron and Daryl before they left for another recruiting run, but I hadn’t thought twice about a missing handgun. At the time, I chalked it up to one of them forgetting to sign it out. Guess I was very wrong.

“They want to kick you out,” Michonne tells him in a hiss. She’s furious with him and barely keeping it together. Rick sighs and nods.

“We aren’t going to let that happen,” I finish for Michonne, sharing a quick nod with her before turning back to him. “But this can’t happen again. What were you even fighting about?”

“Pete’s abusing Jessie,” is Rick’s quiet reply. I feel Michonne stiffen beside me, her anger now bubbling over, and I’m surprised that I am just as angry. Little did I know that Michonne and I are angry for very different reasons. “Deanna knew, I knew she did, and she didn’t do anything about it.”

“So you throw him through a window?” Michonne hisses. Then she throws her arm out, narrowly missing clocking me in the face. “That is not how you show these people how to wake up.”

“I admit my method was less than ideal,” Rick admits, looking down at his lap. “I acted emotionally before I could think it through, and I am sorry for that.”

The way Rick’s eyes shift back and forth puts me on edge; his mind is working overtime, I can see it on his face. But he keeps quiet and finally, I sigh, nod, and take my leave. A niggling feeling in the back of my head warns me to go to the meeting armed, so, after dinner with Glenn and Maggie, before leaving for the meeting, I make sure my hatchet is at my waist.

Glenn and Maggie leave before me; it’s dark by the time I step out of the house and head to Deanna’s. The streets are silent. Some residents have left their porch lights on as beacons for whenever they head home. I shove my hands in my pockets and idly kick a rock down the sidewalk, turning over all the possible outcomes this meeting may hold.

I’m so distracted again that I don’t see a shadow crossing the street, heading towards me at a dead run, until the wind is knocked out of me and I hit the grass in between two houses. I land roughly on my back, expelling air in a whoosh, and I hardly have a chance to recover when a hand circles my throat and hoists me up. I’m thrown violently against the siding of the house, and the hand is swapped for a forearm, pressing down on my windpipe. I claw at the skin and in the dim lighting of the porch lights, Nicholas’s face glares up at me. I gasp for breath and fight harder, my anger resurfacing. I attempt to kick out my legs, but Nicholas pins my body to the side of the house with his, and the feeling sends unpleasant shivers down my spine.

Then I see a flash of metal—a knife, I assume—as it lifts towards my face. I manage to wriggle an arm out from underneath Nicholas and knock the knife away; it glitters as it sails, landing in the grass some feet away. In response, Nicholas’s now-free hand cold-cocks me in the nose so hard I feel the blood vessels popping. Blood drips down into my mouth as I still fight for air, a feeling of lightheadedness beginning to take over. Nicholas hits me again, this time with a backhand that splits open my cheek. The cool night air stings the scrape, and he leans his face closer to mine, hovering just centimeters away.

“You think you can bad-mouth me to Deanna and get away with it? I’m like a son to her,” he hisses lowly. “You left my best friend there to die. You come into my community and try and take over? You and that cop buddy of yours.”

I feel a red-hot rage boiling in my stomach, and without formulating a reply I jerk my head forwards, catching him in the nose with my forehead. He stumbles back, and his arm is gone from my throat. He clutches his nose, which is now gushing blood like mine. While he’s distracted I tackle him like I’m a linebacker for the NFL, arms around his waist. We go flying, and his head makes a satisfying crack as it hits the house behind him. We grapple for control of the situation, rolling in the grass. I claw at his face and he throws punches. He catches me in the chin, jamming my teeth together, and he uses the opportunity to roll us again. His hands are around my throat again and squeezing. I wheeze, my hands coming up in a futile attempt to relieve the pressure on my neck. A scuffing of shoes on pavement distracts Nicholas and he looks up, his grip loosening slightly. Then he grins evilly down at me and reaches towards my hip for my hatchet.

The scuffing turns to muffled thuds as the shoes meet the grass and suddenly Nicholas is off me, my hatchet in his hand. He’s still grinning as he retrieves his knife and takes off around the back of one of the houses, disappearing. I cough and splutter, but I hardly have a moment to recover because the unmistakable groaning of the dead sends ice through my veins. I flip onto my stomach; the walker is closing in, its sight set on me. Its jaws are snapping and I shoot to my feet.

“Shit!” I cry. I’m left without a weapon and the walker is lessening the distance. Its arms reach out towards me and I manage to duck away from them, and the walker’s momentum carries it past me. It turns and charges me again. I know I simply cannot run; if someone gets bitten because I didn’t put it down, I know I’ll never forgive myself. In the dark I search frantically for a weapon, but it seems the residents of Alexandria have a habit of cleaning up their garden tools.

I step backwards, leading the walker out into the light shining from the houses. The walker and I are in some kind of sick dance; I twirl away from it, keeping it in my sights always, and it follows me, groaning, snarling, reaching. It reaches for me once more, and I jump back again. The walker stumbles on its own feet, swaying uneasily, and I use that to my advantage. In an act deemed insane, I rush the walker, tackling it to the ground. I shove off its decaying torso and bring my boot down on its skull as its arms lift to reach for me. The decrepit skull is soft under my heel and crushes easily. The body twitches as I continue my booted assault until the walker is completely limp, oozing dark blood and brain matter all over the street. The sound of approaching footsteps causes me to whirl, prepared to defend myself again. It’s unnecessary, though, when I see who the source of the sound is.

“Rick?” The sheriff is panting, staring down at the newly-minced walker at my feet. His eyes shoot back up to me. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the meeting?”

“The gate was open. What happened to you?” he asks. I shake my head briefly, spurring on another short bout of dizziness, and then Rick, to my surprise, stoops to heft the body of the walker onto his shoulder. “Come on.”

He leads the way to Deanna’s, the body of the walker making his breathing heavy and ragged. Ahead, the glow of a large fire lets us know where exactly the meeting is taking place. With no other words between us, Rick storms through the open backyard gate, walker and all, and dumps the body in front of the fire. There are gasps and one shriek of surprise from the Alexandrians, looks of horror on every one of their faces.

“I didn’t bring this. It got in,” Rick tells them firmly. Deanna’s remaining son, Spencer, steps forward, his face pinched.

“I told Gabriel to shut the gate.” Deanna orders him away, and Spencer brushes by me as I stand just inside the doorway.

Rick is speaking again, addressing the Alexandrians again. He tells them that the dead always get in, and so do the living, that they’ll find us, use us, try to kill us unless we kill them.

“We’ll survive,” he says. “I’ll show you how. You know, I was thinking, I was thinking how many of you do I have to kill to save your lives? But I'm not gonna do that. You're gonna change. I'm not sorry for what I said last night. I'm sorry for not saying it sooner. You're not ready, but you have to be. Right now, you have to be. Luck runs out.”

Then, for the second time that night, I am roughly shoved to the side. I crash into a flower pot on a plant stand, and it and I go toppling to the ground. The broken terra cotta cuts into my palms as I land on it, but I’m too focused on the second unlucky person who’s shoved me tonight. It takes me a minute to recognize Pete. The smell of alcohol is pungently noticeable, and I feel a small prick of fear when I notice he has Michonne’s katana in his hands. The Alexandrians are panicking, and our group is ready for a fight should it come down to it.

“You’re not one of us!” Pete slurs, waving the sword around. He’s pointing and glaring menacingly at Rick, who’s holding up his hands. “You’re not one of us!”

Deanna’s husband, whose name escapes me, rushes forward to amend the situation. He put his hands on Pete in an attempt to push him away, but Pete has none of it. He lifts his arms to shove the man away, and the katana crosses over the man’s front. As Pete pushes him, the sword slices into the man’s throat, and ruby red blood sprays from his neck. Deanna screams, as do a few other Alexandrian women, and her husband grasps at his neck. Blood splatters my clothing as the man turns in a circle before hitting the ground. Deanna rushes to his side, murmuring in grief.

“Oh Reg, no.” Huh, so that’s his name. Reg goes limp in Deanna’s arms, setting off another wail from the new widow.

“This is him!” Pete cries, the bloody katana throwing blood as he gestures at Rick with it. He paces wildly. “This is him!”

Deanna sobs and then turns to Rick, who’s watching Jessie’s husband fall apart in a drunken rage. She utters two words to the constable, and with barely any hesitation, Rick pulls his revolver, aims it at the fallen Pete, and pulls the trigger. More women scream, and I am so overwhelmed by everything that has just played out that I don’t notice the arrival of three people.


	16. Together.

It is silent in Deanna’s backyard, the aftermath sitting heavy on everyone’s mind. I am still on the ground, laying amongst terra cotta debris, potting soil, and broken plants. The new arrivals are Aaron, Daryl, and a third man I don’t recognize, but he knows Rick. Daryl and Aaron look a mess, and the hunter’s eyes shift to me on the ground. I can the flash of worry in his eyes at this distance and he flinches as if he’s going to move towards me.

Then Carol, who seems to be continuing to play her feeble woman game, cries out in relief, her face crumpling with fake, unshed tears, and she books it across the yard to hug Daryl tightly to her. I fight back an eye roll, glance quickly at the sad smiles on the faces of the Alexandrians, and attempt to stand up. Rick is still staring open-mouthed at the stranger who arrived with the recruiters, but the sound of my movement draws him back to me. He steps over the two bodies at his feet and takes me lightly by the underarms, hauling me to my feet. My body is sore all over, and my palms and face are stinging. Rick keeps an arm around me and prepares to lead me to the infirmary so that I can be looked at.

Carol has separated from Daryl but still stands close to him, her eyes narrowing when she looks over my face. I’m too tired and sore to deal with her, so I ignore it and the look Daryl gives me as Rick and I brush by them.

We’re halfway to the infirmary when Rick asks, “You gonna tell me who did that to your face?”

I sigh, knowing Rick isn’t going to let it go. “Nicholas. He caught me off-guard. Took off when that walker showed up.”

“We’ll deal with him. Are you all right?”

I wince. “My face hurts something awful but I’ll be fine. You think Deanna’s gonna change her mind about exiling you? After what she asked you to do?”

It’s Rick’s turn to sigh, and he drags a hand over his face. “I hope so. These people need help. There was no one on watch. If you and I hadn’t found that walker…”

“I know. Just so you know, if Deanna doesn’t change her mind, I’m with you. Can’t face this world without Rick Grimes.”

Rick smirks down at me and nods. He leads me up to the infirmary; lights are on in the building, and when we enter, Denise looks at us in confusion.

“What happened?” she asks, though neither Rick nor I answer. Instead, Rick sets me on one of the beds and moves back so Denise can examine me. “These face wounds are all superficial. Just need a couple bandages. These scrapes on your hands are a different story. A couple of them will need stitches. Unfortunately, I don’t have any anesthesia. We can’t spare it.” Her tone is apologetic.

“It’s fine,” I reply. “I can handle it.”

Denise purses her lips before nodding and gathering the necessary suturing supplies, as well as a basin of water and a washcloth. She also has a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and I grimace in anticipation. Denise carefully cleans the wounds on my face with water first and then she douses the washcloth with the peroxide. A sharp sting in my cheek makes me grit my teeth but I stay still. She repeats the process on my hands and sits on a stool. Behind her, Rick has stemmed his hands on his hips.

“You can go, Rick. I know you’ve got a shit storm to settle,” I tell him quietly. He waits for a moment and then he nods. As he passes he lays a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. Then he’s gone and Denise gets to work on stitching my hands.

When she’s finished, she lays butterfly bandages on the cut on my cheek and binds my hands in gauze. Then I’m released and I make a hasty exit. Daryl is storming up the street when I step out onto the porch, and I meet him slowly on the walkway.

“What happened to you guys?” I ask him, wanting to put off any worry he may harbor for me just a little bit longer.

“Got stuck. Gotta talk to Rick in a bit,” he responds gruffly. Then, with a gentleness that should’ve surprised me but doesn’t, he grabs my chin in his hand and turns my head to assess the damage to my face. I know I’m bruised, and I wince when he runs his fingers over my swollen cheek. “The hell happened?”

I press my lips in a tight line. The worry in his voice makes my chest feel heavy, but warm, and it catches me off guard. His hand moves up from my chin and, much like the night before, he cups my cheek in his palm. His skin is warm and it relaxes me. I glance down at our feet before focusing my eyes somewhere behind his head. I can’t look him in the eye; the emotions no doubt swirling in their blue depths will no doubt unnerve me.

“Nicholas,” I say in a whisper. It’s unintentional, but I can’t bring myself to talk any louder. Daryl’s jaw clenches and his grip on my face tightens just a fraction before he lets me go. “I was on my way to the meeting and he blindsided me, held me up against a house. Hit me a few times.”

He inhales sharply, clearing trying to keep his anger in check. I smirk and tell him, “Don’t worry, I got my own shots in.”

“Never liked that weasel fuck,” he growls, and the sheer anger in his voice makes me back up a step. He sighs, having caught my movement, and reaches forward to sling an arm around my shoulder. “Come on.”

We walk like that down the street to my house and my thoughts travel back to the night before. I wonder how I’ve managed to find myself in eerily similar situations two nights in a row.

“Carol’s really playing up the ‘poor, helpless me’ act,” I remark, fighting to keep the bitterness out of my voice. By the sideways look Daryl sends me I know I’m not successful. But I keep on with, “Especially after she lifted a gun from the armory under Rick’s and your orders.”

“Needed to be prepared,” he replies defensively. “Tonight proved that.”

“And you don’t think they’re going to be looking at me when they figure out where he got the gun?” I retort.

“What’s it matter anyways?” he shoots back, his voice hard.

Why did it matter?

Daryl moves his arm from my shoulder, and I miss the contact. He takes a step away from me, putting distance between us as he continues, “Just three days ago you were as skeptical about this place as I was. Now all the sudden because Carol steals a gun you’re worried about these people trusting you?”

It sounds ridiculous when he puts it that way, but that isn’t all of it. I’ve finally decided to set aside my skepticism of others and give Alexandria a shot, a real shot. Having it known that one of ours stole from an armory I take inventory of everyday is like taking two giant steps backwards. I stay silent, my lips pressed tightly together, and glare at the sidewalk.

“Now ya giving me the silent treatment?” Daryl asks, quieter but still irritated. When I still don’t respond, he scoffs.

He walks me inside when we reach my house and he follows me upstairs. I’m not sure if he senses my need to talk, despite my earlier silence, but I’m grateful if he can read me as well as I think he can. Daryl seats himself on the end of my bed and I choose to sit on the side, leaving us back to back. I feel far more comfortable not having to look at his face.

“You told me we couldn’t do things without people anymore,” I start quietly. “I’m learning that. It’s taking me a little while to come to grips with it, I guess. But I’m seeing it now. This group has made me see it, [i]you’ve[/i] made me see it. The aftermath of what happened tonight... I’m not mad because it was Carol who stole the gun, despite what you may think. I’m mad because it even happened at all. I get these people need our help, but in order for us to help them we need to trust each other. What does it tell them when they learn four people, if you count me, had a plan to raid the armory? Because they’ll already think I had something to do with it… Without me even realizing it I’ve already started thinking of this place as a home, and it downright scares me.

I’ve grown so used to keeping myself guarded that I’ve forgotten how to let people in, how to care about them and how to let them care about me. It’s a culture shock, in a way, I guess. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. In this world, having people to care for makes you vulnerable, and being vulnerable makes you weak.”

“Having people who care about ya means ya got someone watchin’ your ass,” comes Daryl’s quiet reply. I know he’s turned his head to look at me but I can’t bring myself to look back at him. “But yer right—I know where ya comin’ from, know how hard it is to just admit that ya care about these people. But ya ain’t alone, not anymore. Ya got people who trust you, rely on you, and care about you. It’s okay to let ya guard down, even if it’s just a little, like ya doin’ now. Slow and steady, ya know?”

The weight of his words makes me tremble and I drag a hand down my face, wincing as my stitches pull. I lean my elbows on my thighs and glare down at the gauze wrapped around my hands. The mattress shifts and Daryl is kneeling before me, much like he was that day Aiden died. And, like that day, he takes my once-again wounded hands in his. My scrapes from decking Nicholas that day are healing, turning purple as they fade. His calloused hands are gentle as the fingers brush over the gauze and I look up to meet his eyes. Their color stuns me; icy like the arctic, but when he’s angry they’re as dark as the sea in a storm. Right now, as he looks at me, they’re their usual pleasant blue.

“I’m scared, Daryl,” I admit, just above a whisper. One large hand tightens around both of mine, while the other reaches up to caress my cheek. Subconsciously, I lean into the touch, my eyes never leaving his despite the urge to look away.

“I know ya are. But ya got people here to help ya. Ya got me.”

Hesitantly, I pull my hands from his, and for a moment I see the fear of rejection in Daryl’s eyes. But it is assuaged when my hands come to rest on his face, and I bend forward to press our foreheads together. My eyes close as I fully weigh what’s been inhabiting the back of my mind since that day Daryl was last here. I open my eyes briefly and wait, trying to portray my intentions into my eyes. His gaze is unwavering, and he slides his hand from my cheek to the back of my neck to pull me down to him to close the distance. His lips meet mine softly, patiently, as if I’m going to back away. I nearly do; it’s been so long since I’ve shared such an intimate moment with someone that my instincts tell me to head for the hills.

But I don’t. I let my mouth meld against his and follow his lead. His fingers curl into my ponytail, pressing my head even closer. Before I can register it, I sigh into his mouth and my hands move to his shoulders. Since that day, I’d been denying to myself that I wanted this, wanted someone to care for me as Daryl so obviously does. I didn’t need anyone, but that’s not who I am anymore.

The way Daryl is kissing me sets a fire beneath my skin, a yearning that had long been doused but embers still remained. Daryl’s hand rests on my thigh and squeezes, as his other massages the back of my scalp, still trying to tug me closer. Through the muscles in his back I can tell he’s holding himself back, and the thought makes me smirk against his mouth. I press my fingertips into his back and shiver when he answers with a quiet growl. Before I can let myself go completely, I pull away from him slowly, keeping my eyes closed.

Daryl’s hand touches my face again, and I open my eyes to meet his. His eyes are dark now, but it’s not with anger. It’s with something else entirely, and I’d be stupid to deny that it gave me goosebumps. He gives me one of his rare, half-cocked smiles, and I find myself slowly returning it.

“Didn’t think ya’d go for that,” he tells me honestly, rubbing a hand over his beard. He glances away, over my shoulder for a moment, and I can see the change in his face, the hesitance. It’s in his eyes when he looks back at me. “Gotta warn ya, I ain’t…I ain’t good at this stuff.”

I tilt my head curiously. “What stuff? It sure as hell ain’t kissing. I think you’ve got that down.”

He blushes and tugs my ponytail. “Stop. I mean, this…this kinda stuff. Ain’t ever had a girlfriend…or…” I smile adoringly at him. His nervousness is so unlike anything I’ve seen from him so far, and I admit it’s endearing.

“I’m not exactly ready to go saying ‘I do’ myself,” I respond quietly. “And I know that I like you… But it’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything for anyone except mistrust. Let’s just take everything slow and we’ll figure this out together.”

Daryl chews on his lip, glances away again, and nods when he meets my eyes again. His gaze bounces over my shoulder. “’S gettin’ late.”

He starts to rise but stops when my hand shoots out to grasp his. He looks questioningly down at me, and I stumble over my words.

“Stay. Um, we don’t…not like that…just, um, I’d like it if you stayed,” I choke out in a rush. Daryl smirks down at me, enjoying my discomfort over asking him such a thing, and then it drops as he thinks. His lip is between his teeth again and his head bobs slowly. Relief floods me, and I nod back.

I rise from the bed and walk over to the dresser for a clean set of pajamas. Daryl is shucking his vest and boots when I leave the room, cross the hall to the bathroom. Once inside with the door closed, I drop the clothes on the edge of the sink and lean my bandaged hands against the counter, dropping my head between my shoulders. My lips tingle from our shared kiss, and my mind is coming up with all the scenarios in which this could all go wrong. Not to mention my sudden realization that I don’t want to be alone tonight.

I shake myself and quickly change into the pajama pants and short-sleeve shirt, my dirty clothes in a heap under my arm. I drop them in the laundry bin on the way out. Daryl is sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard. His hands are laced over his chest and he looks the picture of comfort. His eyes are closed, but when he hears me moving around to the other side of the bed, he opens them. A somewhat tense silence settles between us as I climb under the covers, settling on my side facing him. He scoots down the headboard and throws an arm behind his head, emphasizing the muscles in his arms. He chews on his thumbnail as he looks down at me.

“Thank you for staying,” I say quietly. I vote against telling him why I asked in the first place, and he doesn’t pester me. He only offers me a nod and I roll over away from him. I’m just about to drop into sleep when I feel him moving behind me, and carefully and tentatively, an arm is draped over my waist. He sighs deeply behind me, and with my eyes still closed, I smile into my pillow.


	17. People.

The next morning I wake up alone, though the space behind me is still warm. Then I hear the shuffling. Daryl is sitting on the end of the bed, bent over as he, presumably, laces up his boots. His vest is already on his shoulders, and when he hears me stirring, he turns his head slightly to give me a small nod.

“Morning,” I sigh, back arching as I stretch. My spine pops and I let myself relax back into the mattress, though it doesn’t last long. I remember the events of the day before as I catch sight of my gauzed hands. I purse my lips tightly. “Suppose today I’ll have to see Deanna and Rick about Nicholas.”

Daryl grunts in response and stands from the bed when his boots are tied. “’ll tell Rick ya lookin’ for him.” He steps around the bed and in two strides he’s beside me and dropping a kiss to my forehead. Then he’s gone.

I sit up in the bed, my night shirt askew, and run a hand over my bedhead. I am not looking forward to this talk with Rick or with Deanna. Clearly what I had said to Deanna had gotten back to Nicholas, somehow, and a feeling of dread settles in my gut. Perhaps Deanna will see obvious reason this time and I’ll be let off the hook.

That thought is rapidly doused when I take in Deanna’s expression when Rick and I walk into the same living room a few days ago. The older congresswoman is straight-backed in her chair, giving me a look that tells me she’s getting real tired of having me in here. Likewise, lady. I plop down onto the plush couch cushions, a niggling feeling of horrible déjà vu in my stomach. The dread I’d felt when I’d woken up has multiplied tenfold. My leg begins to bounce anxiously, my lip has become a chew toy for my teeth, and I feel beads of sweat breaking out across the back of my neck.

Why the hell am I so nervous? Nicholas attacked me. I should be confident and sure and ready to defend myself. Instead, I’m reduced to a nervous puddle before this woman who enjoys peering down her nose at people lower than her. People like me, and like Rick, and Daryl, people who’ve had to survive out there and haven’t had it as good as she and her people have. The thought turns my nervousness to anger, and I channel it into a compelling argument when I need it.

“I hear you had another altercation with Nicholas. Last night, before the meeting? Don’t think we didn’t see what your face looked like, though we had other…pressing…matters to attend to.”

I curl my fingers into the hem of my shorts, attempting to rein in the wild animal that is my rapidly-growing temper.

“Sounds like you’re accusing me of something,” I respond tartly. Rick’s eyes are bouncing between the two of us, looking unsure.

Deanna is the picture of composure. “Not at all, dear. I’m just wondering why as of late you seem to be finding yourself in these…situations with one of our trusted residents.”

I scoff. “He came after me. Heard what I had to say the last time you and I spoke. How [i]did[/i] he find out anyway?” I cross my arms and tilt my head, challenging her to answer. Rick holds up a hand between the two of us.

“Now, Candace, Deanna isn’t accusing you of anything. We’re just wondering why Nicholas seems so set on hurting you,” he says, giving Deanna a pointed look. The woman sneers so quickly I almost miss it. It does a number on my anger.

“I’m not sure exactly. Maybe he’s feeling guilty for leaving Aiden behind.” I inwardly smirk when Deanna cringes at my use of her dead son’s name.

“We’ll be sure to have a talk with him,” says Rick, again looking at Deanna. Then he turns back to me. “Can you tell us what happened that night he attacked you?”

I do. I tell them all about my walk to the meeting, about Nicholas lying in wait for me, blindsiding me, our tussle, his leaving me for the walker that had gotten in through the open gate. I’m shaking with anger over the whole situation again by the time I finish, and Deanna’s expression hasn’t changed a bit. She doesn’t believe me, and just knowing it makes me shoot from the chair and out of the house. Rick calls after me, catching up with me as I reach the street. His hand curls around my arm and I round on him.

“I can’t believe her!” I rage in his face. He doesn’t flinch, and he doesn’t stop me. “She actually thinks I’ve been looking for fights with that asshole! I bet she knew about Pete and Jessie too.” This time he does flinch, and it confirms my suspicions. I scoff derisively.

“She knew and she didn’t do a damn thing about it. Now she’s doing it again! Is she some special kind of stupid?”

“She’s just trying to get every angle,” Rick placates, holding his hands out. I bark a sardonic laugh.

“Every angle? I get I haven’t been so welcoming of this place since we got here, but I have done nothing to warrant that woman’s hatred. Okay, that’s not completely true, I did throw Nicholas up against the side of a van and deck him.”

Rick smirks and I sigh in defeat, my shoulders slumping. Rick lays a large hand on one of them. “I’ll talk to Deanna, make her see that you’re keeping your head down as far as Nicholas goes. We’ll talk to him. I’ll talk to him.”

The conviction in his voice makes me deflate. I need to trust Rick, and I do. I relent with a slow nod, and Rick squeezes my shoulder once before retracting his hand. I take the hint that I’m dismissed and turn away from him. Anger still courses through me, but it’s tamer now, replaced with a sudden sense of claustrophobia. As I pass by Aaron’s, I notice him as well as Daryl on the porch, looking like they’re about to leave for another scouting trip. Without a second thought I’m making my way to them, and Daryl narrows his eyes behind his hair. Aaron greets me with a smile.

“I’m going with you,” I say hurriedly. I’m not sure if my urgency is so easily read, but neither man argues with me and they nod, walking with me to the house so I can arm myself. I strap my hatchet in its holster around my waist and hurry down the stairs to meet up with the men.

We’re silent as we make our way to the gates, piling into the small rusted sedan. I climb in the back and prop my foot on the compartment in the door, a similar position to Daryl, who sits in front of me.

“So what made you come along?” Aaron asks once Alexandria is but a speck in the distance. I see Daryl turn his head just a bit in my direction. I hesitate in answering, wondering if I’d be shooting myself in the foot if I told the truth. Aaron glances at me in the rearview, his eyebrows raised. “What happens in this car, stays in the car. Scout’s honor.”

“You don’t look like a scout,” I mutter, and Aaron chuckles lightly. I exhale through my nose. “Deanna. She thinks I’m picking fights with Nicholas.”

“Well, you [i]did[/i] throw him up against the side of a van and deck him, which I must say was pretty impressive.” I smile despite my irritation. “Is he the one who did that to your face?”

I nod. “He attacked me. Not sure why he seems so bent on doing so.”

“Nicholas is a weasel.”

“Glad we agree. He seems bent on getting me kicked outta here.”

The rest of the ride is silent, and when the sun is nearly over the trees, Aaron pulls the car off to the side and we get out. We’ve stopped underneath an overhang of trees, and Aaron pulls out a weird-looking contraption, kind of like a megaphone, and a set of headphones. He points the megaphone into the trees, the headphones over his ears, and begins scanning.

“Picks up sounds,” Daryl explains for me. I watch the trees and moments later, Daryl nudges me with his elbow. Aaron has picked up something. He and I file behind Daryl into the woods, picking our way as Aaron continues to listen.

We come to a ridge that tumbles down into a deep ravine. About forty feet down sits an encampment comprised of haggard tents. A few people are milling around—all men. They’re rough-looking, faces covered in thick beards. Immediately, my hackles rise. I don’t have a good feeling about this. My muscles are tense beneath my skin as the three of us hide amongst the bushes out of sight. I cast a glance at Daryl and Aaron. The latter meets my eyes while Daryl watches the group through narrowed eyes. I give a quick shake of my head and Aaron looks hesitant.

“These are not the kind of people you want in Alexandria,” I warn lowly, leaning across Daryl to keep my voice down.

“How do you know?” Aaron asks doubtfully. My eyebrows shoot up.

“It’s all men. No women, no kids.”

“Maybe they lost them all,” he argues. I shake my head firmly, just once. My gut is never wrong.

“She’s right,” Daryl says quietly beside me. I glance at him briefly; he’s still watching the camp. The voices have raised in volume, thick southern accents coming through as the men joke about something vulgar. I give Aaron a pointed look.

“Do those men sound like the kind of people you want around women and children?” He doesn’t answer. “We need to leave.”

We break away quietly, and the men are none the wiser. As we make our way back through the trees, I glance at Aaron.

“You forget…” he murmurs. “You forget what people can be like, what they can do.”

“All it takes is once to help you remember.”

“You think we can ever go back?” he asks sullenly. I frown, faltering slightly at the weight his question drops into my stomach. Beside us, Daryl listens silently. His hand is at his mouth, no doubt chewing on his thumb. He seems to be waiting for my answer, too.

I’m not sure even how to answer it, though. With a community like Alexandria, humanity is once again possible. But to restore humanity would be to forget that people are just as dangerous as the dead, even more so.

“I don’t know,” is my decided response after a few moments of thought. We lapse into silence, Aaron deep in thought while I try and keep my head empty. I don’t like the way his question had rattled me.

It is silent between the three of us, until a twig snaps off to my right and a sharp, high-pitched whistle echoes in the trees.


	18. Savages

A group of men surround us, and instantly I know they’re the group from the ravine. They’re just as filthy, just as rough. A couple of them are missing teeth. Their clothes are in tatters, and they’re leering at us like they’re the sharks and we are the chum. Aaron, Daryl, and I are spaced a few apart, leaving us vulnerable.

One man steps forward. “Well, looky here. We caught some live ones.” He is missing an entire row of front teeth and has a lisp. He wears an intimidating buck knife on his hip that’s as long as my forearm. His eyes rake over all of us hungrily, until they settle on me. A spark lights up in his eyes, though it foretells of something dark swirling in his mind. He grins, showing off his pallid gums.

“Well, what do we have here?” he saunters over to me, and with a quick look over my shoulder, my arms are suddenly jerked behind me roughly. Daryl and Aaron both move but are quickly felled with rough hits to their backs. They are shoved to their knees as a hand curls in my hair and jerks my head backwards, baring my neck to the slime ball in front of me.

He set his hands on my waist and moves them, feeling my flesh beneath my clothing. He smirks at me as he pulls my hatchet from the holster on my hip and tosses the weapon away. He reeks of body odor, sweat, alcohol, and overall death, and it takes all I have to keep from puking. Then he leans his head into my neck and inhales deeply. His tongue snakes out under those grimy gums and licks a foul trail up to my ear. Fear runs rampant through me, but a raging fire has also begun to burn. These are not the first men like to this to cross my path, the kind who take what they want from whomever they want—the kind of people places like Alexandria can’t save.

Daryl is struggling against his captors. Both he and Aaron are on their stomachs, their arms behind their backs. Two of the men are sitting on them, keeping them pinned. The remaining men standing have their guns pointed at their heads. The slime ball in front of me pulls his tongue away, breathing in my face. I fail at hiding my grimace as the rage begins to take hold. I glare fiercely at him as he grins.

“We’re gonna have fun with you,” he taunts, dragging a dirty finger down the side of my face. I jerk my head away from him. He chuckles, a dark, whistling sound that whooshes through the gap in his mouth. “Yer a feisty one. I like a fight. Strip her boys.”

One man is suddenly on me, and Daryl rages beneath his hold as my shirt is ripped roughly from my body, leaving me clad in a dirty bra. My blood is hot with ire, fueling my determination to not fall victim to these people again. As one of the men stoops to unbutton my jeans I take my shot. I bring my knee up hard into his chin, snapping his jaws together painfully. He cries out, and my booted foot breaks his nose, sending him careening backwards. The force knocks me and the man restraining my arms backwards, and the commotion has distracted the men sitting on Aaron and Daryl. The latter wastes no time as he propels his body upwards from his knees, and the man on top of him topples off.

I land roughly on the man behind me and drive my elbow into his chest, knocking the wind from him. He gasps for air beneath me, and I hardly think about it as I scramble to my feet and bring my boot down hard on his head. He’s unconscious, and I turn my attention to my hatchet that’s been thrown away. I see it lying beneath a thorn bush and dive for it the same time the leader charges me with an animalistic snarl. My fingers brush the handle, but I’m knocked from behind. I manage to avoid the thorn bush, but the hatchet is now out of my reach. The leader has landed atop me, attempting to grab at my throat. I bring my knee up between us as we grapple and hold him off. Wedging my foot against him, I kick out and throw him off balance, giving me time to scramble to my feet.

I can hear a scuffle going on further away, but I’ve got tunnel vision on my hatchet and on the rat behind me. The hatchet is in my hands and I turn, slowly. The leader has gotten to his feet, a steely glare on his face but it changes so fast to a look of fear and surrender. I take a step towards him to a soundtrack of a fist meeting a face, but I don’t turn to look. Instead, I jerk forward and grab the man by the torn collar of his shirt and pull him closer to me, wielding the hatchet at eye level.

“So, you like taking things that don’t belong to you?” I ask him coldly. His eyes are wide and sweat has broken out on his forehead. Without another word, I tighten my grip on my hatchet and lift it high, bringing it down on the joint between his neck and shoulder.

His cries are loud in my face and blood sprays from the wound, coating me and the forest floor. He sinks to his knees, trying to bring his hands up to staunch the wound, but I knock his hand away with my free one. I yank the hatchet free from his body, and the blood comes faster. My face is cold steel as I bring the hatchet up and across his body, slicing his thin chest open from his wound to his opposite nipple. What’s left of his shirt is suddenly drowned in a river of blood.

My head is rushing, I can feel the blood in my ears, feel my heartbeat against my ribcage. It’s slow and steady and my thoughts are blank as I slowly drive my hatchet into the man’s body over and over again. He’s long stopped screaming, but I’m hitting him so quickly that his body doesn’t have the chance to fall. Only when I can’t see through the blood in my eyes anymore do I stop. My breathing surprisingly even, despite how heavy my arm feels. The body thuds to the ground, a shredded mess of blood, flesh, and muscle.

I drop the hatchet into the dirt, pulling my eyes from the body at my feet. I step away, blood dripping from my eyebrows. I glance up, and for a moment I feel ashamed as I take in the petrified stare of Aaron and the eerily stoic one of Daryl. He watches me like one would a strange snake, not sure if I’m venomous or benign. My skin breaks out in goosebumps and I remember I’m topless save for my bra, which is now spattered with blood. Red stains my hands, but I lift them anyways to wipe at the blood dripping in my face. A rag appears under my nose, courtesy of Daryl, and I hastily try and clean myself up. Daryl makes a gesture when I try and hand his rag back to him, so I stuff it in my back pocket.

The bodies of the other men litter the ground, and I wonder how the two of them managed to take on the rest of them.

“One of ‘em got away,” says Daryl beside me. He doesn’t look at me as I glance at him. Aaron is pointedly keeping away from me. Regret replaces the numbness I’m feeling.

“We need to go before their buddies come find us.” He nods, chewing on his lip, and we make our way back to the car.

Silence engulfs the car on the ride back to Alexandria. Aaron shoots me wary looks in the mirror, and every time we lock eyes a sharp pain shoots through my chest. Guilty comes nowhere close to describing the way I’m feeling. It settles over me like a big, black cloud, refusing to drift away. When we pull through the gates, I’m out of the car before it comes to a complete stop. I wince when I hear the gasps, the murmurs, but I keep my head down and keep walking.

I walk past my house; I don’t want to be there, where someone can find me and try and ask me what happened. I keep going until I’ve hit the very back end of Alexandria. There are only empty houses back here, and it’s darker where the trees extend over the wall and throw the entire block into shadow. It’s fitting. I choose a house and enter it. There is no furniture, and the door echoes as it closes. I choose a dark corner of the living room and kitty-corner myself against the wall. My hands are then fisted in my hair as I open my mind, let it take me through the events of the day so I can figure out just where I’d shut down.

I’m surprised to learn everything is fuzzy and my memory isn’t so clear on what happened. I remember the ravine, the men, being cornered, but everything after that drifts in and out. Is this what a psychotic break feels like? Without me realizing it, I’ve started crying and hyperventilating. My chest is tight, like it’s bound in a brace, cutting off my airways. My knees are soaked from the tears that stream in rivulets down my face. They’re tinted pink. I remember I never really cleaned myself up, so I know I must’ve looked a state to the Alexandrians.

I stay there until it gets dark, and though I didn’t expect anyone to, I’m glad no one came looking for me. I’m not sure I even know how I would respond. No doubt Daryl has told Rick of the events of the day, though whether he’s told him about my episode, I’m clueless. The streets are quiet as I walk back, my arms crossed over my chest as I attempt to keep myself warm. It isn’t all that cool, but my body is in some kind of state, and goosebumps rise on my bare skin.

The light is on in the living room when I walk in. Out of my peripheral, I can see Glenn, Maggie, Rick, Daryl, Carol, Aaron, Abraham, and Rosita sitting or standing. Like a flock of flamingos their heads whip around to look at me, but I purposely keep my eyes trained downward and head upstairs. I don’t want to see the looks of fear on their faces—fear of me. I shut myself in the bathroom and stare, expressionless, at my reflection. My skin is coated in blood. All that is visible are my eyes, which blink blankly. I turn away, disgusted with myself, and turn the shower on, running the water as hot as I can stand it.

My face is the first thing I scrub. The water runs pink as the blood is washed away, but I can still see it, feel it on my hands no matter how hard I try and scrub it away. When I’m as clean as I’ll get, I merely sit down against the tiled wall of the shower, my arms around my knees and a far-off expression on my face.


	19. One of Us.

Daryl's POV

The room stays quiet, even after we hear the door slam upstairs. I chew my lip, knowing I should go up and make sure she’s all right, but I don’t. My feet are bolted to the floor. Truth is, I’m not sure what to make of her now. We’ve all been through terrible shit, but her… She’s been through much worse, that much I know. It’s the only explanation for her behavior today. 

Aaron is still fearful, but he’s worried about her too. Rick is beside himself, torn between exiling her and keeping her with us. I think he knows it’s a losing battle, though. The rest of us—save Carol, who’s been arguing up a storm as to why we need to get rid of her—are firmly on her side.

“I don’t understand how you all can just…let her stay here,” Carol says firmly, a horribly stunned expression on her face. I tense beside her. I knew as soon as she saw Candace and the state she was in she’d be all for sending her on her way.

“She’s one of us,” Maggie interjects, appalled that someone in our group would even make such a suggestion. I’m with her, of course, but I keep quiet, opting to watch this all play out.

“Did any of you see her? She was covered in blood!” Carol tries to reason. I clench my jaw, biting my tongue against the words I’m tempted to spit. Rick does it for me. 

“Let’s not forget what you did back at the prison,” he reminds her. Carol stiffens, her eyes going hard and cold. 

“That was to protect the group! To protect all of us!” 

“An’ what she did was to protect herself,” I hear myself growl. Carol’s head whips around, surprise and betrayal clear as day on her face. “Ya weren’t there. Those men...they weren’t good people. Candace is.”

Carol scoffs. “I think you’re a little biased. She killed someone, brutally, and came back to us covered in blood! No normal, sane person does that! We need to lock her up, keep her away from the children. We don’t even know what happened to her before she met Gabriel! He said she showed up injured but didn’t say how. Why? Unless it was something she didn’t want anyone knowing.”

I can see the seeds of doubt Carol’s words have planted in everyone’s head, mine included. But unlike them, I keep myself composed. A small smirk appears on Carol’s face, and I wonder briefly where the mousy woman used to be inside her. When I met her, Carol was meek, weak-minded, and didn’t shove her nose into other people’s business. Over time, she came out of her shell and evolved into a strong, independent woman. Now, as I look at her, I don’t know who she is. She’d never liked Candace, and I still am not sure of the reason why—the reason other than Carol’s infatuation with me.

“She don’t know half the shit we been through neither,” I retort. Carol opens her mouth again but I’m quick to cut her off. “We all done some bad shit we’ve had to do to survive. If ya saw those men, you’d do the same damn thing she did.”

Her mouth opens again but Rick steps forward and throws up a hand between us. “I think that’s enough for tonight. Candace isn’t going anywhere. No one needs to babysit her.” He ignores Carol’s scoff before she turns and sweeps from the house, the front door slamming shut behind her.

Slowly, the others follow her, and Maggie pauses to lay a hand on my shoulder before I hear her head upstairs. I duck my head, throwing my hair into my face. I don’t want anyone seeing how upset Carol has truly made me. Rick is the last one in the room, and I know he’s been wanting to speak to me privately. As my best friend and my brother, I can’t help but spill my concerns to him when we step out onto the back porch.

“Ya shoulda seen her,” I mutter, so low I’m surprised Rick even hears me. He leans on his hands as they rest on the railing, looking out into the night. “’s like some kinda switch just…” I click my tongue and twist my hand in a ‘turn-off’ motion. “Man, she went through some shit. She just went…cold, and she was angry. But not angry like I get. Angry like calculated. She had this look in her eye… And when she swung that hatchet… Man, I’m worried about her, and I don’t know how to help her.”

“Might not be anything you can do to help her, Daryl,” Rick replies, gazing across at me with sympathy in his eyes. “She’s gotta come out of this on her own. Let her pull herself back to the now. I won’t say I’m not curious as hell to know what kinda shit she’s been through to trigger an episode like that, but I agree with you in saying it doesn’t matter. Not now. We’ve all done things we’d never thought we’d have to. That includes Candace. She doesn’t owe me any explanation.”

I bring my thumb to my mouth and chew the skin. Rick’s answer is everything I expect it to be, but I can’t help the frustration building. Whatever is happening between Candace and me… I’m wrongfully annoyed that there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do for her except be there if and when she needs me. The realization that people need me has taken me far too long to come to grips with, but now that I know it’s true, I’ve been saddled with the desire to want to help however possible. Unfortunately, this doesn’t seem like something I can push on her. I pushed her to care about the group, pushed her to let people, let me, in. I can’t push her to open up about memories she’s no doubt kept locked away in the deepest, darkest parts of her mind.

“She’s one of us, Daryl, just like Maggie said.” I jump slightly when Rick lays his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t let Carol try and sway you from that.”

“She ain’t,” I retort semi-defensively and then sigh. “Don’t know what’s got into her.”

Rick is smirking knowingly and he takes a step back. “Oh, I think you do. You just don’t wanna see it.”

“She ain’t sweet on me.” Talking about feelings is definitely not one of my strong suits. I like to think I’m getting better, but I can never be sure when the next minute I’m putting my foot in my mouth. Rick’s eyebrows rise slowly until they disappear into his hair, chuckling when I groan. “Well, I ain’t sweet on her at least. Carol’s always been…well, ya know.”

“I know.”

“Damaged people, man. Never more than that. Don’t even know when it started honestly, when she started lookin’ at me diff’rent.”

“Oh, I think it started with Sophia, and your refusal to give up on her. Carol was right there even when you tried pushin’ everyone away. I think she’s been harborin’ these feelings for a while.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t returnin’ them.”

“I know you aren’t. You seem to have some kind of connection with Candace.”

Uncomfortable, I nod briefly and look away. I can’t say for sure when I started seeing Candace differently. Maybe it was the day she decked Nicholas and took off like a loose tornado. Or that day on the road when she kept insisting we leave her behind. She tried to hide it, but I read the look on her face as clearly as if she’d been putting it out there for show. I knew it because I’d felt the same way when I realized, with these people, I was home.

Rick leaves shortly after, and momentarily I wonder if I should too. But I can’t help but wonder what that would make Candace think if I just left…

I take the stairs two at a time and stop outside her room. The door is open a crack, and I take a moment to compose myself. I decide acting as if nothing is wrong is the best tactic. She’s sitting curled up on the bed when I walk in, already dressed in her pajamas. Her heads snaps up, her eyes wide with surprise, when she hears the door. I hold her eyes for a moment before I look away and remove my vest. I can feel her eyes following me, no doubt wondering what the hell I’m doing in here.

“Ya gettin’ in bed ‘r what?” I ask once my boots and socks are removed. I sit on my side of the bed—inwardly I huff, ‘my side’—and watch her expectantly. She stares down at her hands, and I can see the wheels turning in her head.

“I don’t know what happened out there…I mean, that’s never happened to me before.” Her voice is weak, and it’s a tone I’m not used to hearing. I hate it.

“Ya don’t owe nobody nothin’.”

Her eyes snap back to me. “You aren’t the least bit curious?”

“Curious? Hell yeah. But I ain’t lookin’ fer an explanation. Don’t need it. Ya comin’ to bed or not?” 

She moves then, turning to crawl on her hands and knees to the head of the bed, and goddammit if it isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Her eyes are wide, doubtlessly because I’m not pushing for answers, but all I can think about is the sudden look of innocence on her face, and paired with that sexy ass pose, it’s killing me. I look away as she crawls under the covers, lying on her side while I get myself settled on my back. I lift my arm and look at her.

“C’mon,” I urge quietly. She hesitates, pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, before shuffling over and resting her head on my shoulder. I slowly lower my arm, suddenly unsure, but she relaxes as it curls around her, so I let myself relax too. I bite my lip for a moment, pulling at the chapped skin, before I say, “When ya ready…if ya think it’ll help, I’ll be here. Ain’t gotta do it alone.”

She doesn’t say anything in response, and when her breathing evens out minutes later, I know I won’t get one. I sigh through my nose and let my eyes close. Sleep finds me, but it’s fitful.


	20. Feelings.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Candace's POV, and a little fluff.

I don’t remember my nightmare, but I know that it’s no coincidence that it’s returned. Daryl is leaning over me, his hands soft on my face as my fists swing blindly, when my eyes snap open and I am able to focus. My night shirt is drenched in sweat and my damp hair is plastered to my forehead.

“Yer okay, yer okay,” Daryl whispers repeatedly, brushing my hair away from my face. A whimper leaves my mouth and I focus on his eyes, which are wide with concern. Their blue depths pull me in, allowing me to rein in my erratic breathing until the panic subsides. His hand brushes across my forehead again and I lick my lips. “Yer okay.”

I reach up to grab his wrists and he shifts them so that I am holding his hands. I clasp them to my chest. My eyes close as my lip quivers again. Even though I don’t remember, I know what the nightmare was about. Daryl is patient with me, watching me as I compose myself and settle back into bed. He shifts and curls himself around me protectively, tugging me up against him so that my back is flush with his front. His hands are still clutched between mine, and he reaches out a thumb to brush comfortingly across the skin my shirt has bared. I settle back into the pillow, nuzzling my face into it, and close my eyes.

Daryl moves a hand to my bicep, rubbing slow circles with his thumb, as I try and get another hour or so of sleep. It is still dark outside our window—our.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” I mutter, keeping my eyes shut in a small bout of shame. His thumb stops.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for,” he replies slowly. Then he clears his throat quietly. “Ya can talk about it, ya know. If it helps.”

“I’m not sure it will. I was on my own after…everything…for a while so I learned how to forget it. But today, those men…it just made everything resurface. I don’t even remember my dream anyways,” I half-lie. The details are fuzzy, but the basic concept is always the same, and it always ends in blood.

“Just ‘cause ya buried it don’t mean ya forget.” His tone tells me everything his words don’t, tells me of his own dark experiences. “’N ya don’t have to keep it buried anymore if ya don’t want. It’ll help ya to move on.”

“Did talking help you?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I keep my eyes closed as I feel every muscle tense in Daryl’s body. His grip on me loosens slightly and he shifts away. When I open my eyes and glance over my shoulder, he’s on his back and in the dark, I can just barely make out his eyes aimed at the ceiling. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“Nah, ya right. I never talked about it, but I didn’t need to. Had other shit goin’ on. I’ve never forgotten but I don’t let it weigh me down. Got people to look out fer. You, on the other hand, look like ya beatin’ yaself up over shit ya can’t change. No one’s judgin’ ya for doin’ what ya had to.”

“Really?” I ask meekly. God, I hate that I’ve been reduced to whimpers. Daryl turns his eyes to me, locking onto mine, and the intensity of them pull me in, keep me there in that spot.

“Really,” he says firmly, and I have no choice but to believe him. “We all done bad shit. We all move on diff’rently. But ya gotta move on. You’ll get yaself or someone else killed if ya keep hanging onto it.”

He’s right, of course he’s right. And his argument is so compelling that I don’t realize I’m speaking until my voice catches.

“That group…that group I was with, before I met you, before I met Gabriel, the bad ones…They found me. I was taking cover on the highway, staying in an abandoned RV with a flat tire. They were friendly, at first, offered me a place within them and let me keep my weapons. I was…naïve back then, so I went with them. They had a compound, an old office building or something, single-story, and there were about seventeen people in all. Women, children, as well as the men. A couple dogs. They shared their food with me, offered me a safe haven. This went on for a few weeks, until their leader, Xavier, came to me and said I’d had a debt to repay.” Daryl stiffens behind me, but I keep talking. “I ate their food, used their resources, and nothing was given for free. Xavier came to collect his debt, but I said no. I said I’d just leave, but he wouldn’t allow it. I knew then why I’d never heard the women laugh—only ever the men or the children, who were too innocent and naïve to know what was happening to their mothers or their guardians. Xavier locked me in a single office, kept me handcuffed to the desk with no food or water for a few days. Said he liked fight in his women, but not too much. I was much weaker the next time he came back, and he wasn’t alone. They…” I swallow but press on. Now or never. “They took turns. They kept me handcuffed to the desk, and I was so weak from lack of nutrition that I could just…lay there while they defiled my body. I fought a little bit, got a few good shots in, but I got tired fast and eventually just switched myself off. Humiliated doesn’t even come close…This went on until Xavier decided my debt had been repaid. I don’t know how long they had used me, how long I had been in that room. They fed me after that, gave me water, and I regained my strength, but I wasn’t going to stay there any longer. One night, I crept into Xavier’s room, the office where they’d…and I slit his throat in his sleep. Never woke up, just slipped away in his own blood. I did the same to two of his buddies before I got caught. They tried to hold me down, cut me, dislocated my shoulder and my knee, but somehow, I got away. I don’t remember how. I think I tuned everything out at that point, shut my brain off again. I took off, limping, into the forest near the compound, and I walked for a week before I stumbled, literally, upon Gabriel’s church. The rest you know.”

Daryl is eerily silent behind me, and a quick backwards glance at him shows me he’s glaring at the ceiling. In the dark, his blue eyes glimmer and I sit up in the bed, needing to put some distance between us. I cover my face with my hands as the silence stretches across the room.

“Please say something,” I say quietly, my voice muffled by my hands. I don’t realize that I am yearning for the sound of his voice, any sign of acknowledgment so that I don’t feel like complete and utter garbage—used up and broken. The bed moves, and Daryl’s footsteps pad across the room, and my stomach drops when I realize he’s leaving.

But then my hands are pulled from my face and I’m met with those stormy blues boring into me. I can’t look away and my bottom lip quivers when his hands come up to grasp my face.

“Ain’t nothin’ like that gonna happen again, ya hear?” he says, his fingers tightening around my face. My lip quivers again and then he kisses me firmly. I whimper into his mouth and grab at his wrists as he wipes at a single tear that has spilled out of my eye.

I break away, our lips parting with an audible smack, and ask, “You don’t…think anything different?”

He gives me a half-cocked smile. “God no. If anything changed, it’s that ya just became that much stronger to me.”

His words do something funny to my heart and I lean forward and kiss him again. Our mouths move together and he slowly pushes me back into the mattress. Our lips still attached, we scoot towards the headboard and I curl my hands into his shirt as my head hits the pillow. He doesn’t push any boundaries and keeps his hands propped on the mattress on either side of my head, keeping himself elevated. My body warms with the unfamiliarity of embracing someone this way and I move my hands from his shirt to the back of his neck, where I tangle his hair in my hands and pull, eliciting a quiet groan of approval from Daryl.

We lay like that, in the dark kissing, for a while, never venturing further. Despite the fire in my veins, the memories I’ve just revealed to him have left me feeling stripped and raw and unsure. Daryl breaks away first, looking down at me and chewing on his lip. In a gesture that is all tenderness despite his rough exterior, he brushes his knuckles over my cheek. My breathing is labored from our kissing, and as he watches me, my emotions run rampant. I haven’t felt like this since before the fall, a time period that seems eons away. I’d only ever felt love once, but watching Daryl watching me, I know it won’t be long before I feel it again. That thought scares me, though Daryl spills all his emotions into his actions, a man of few words, and in his eyes I can see the same emotions swimming. I reach up and tease my fingers in his beard, tugging on it lightly. He smirks down at me before leaning forward to kiss me once more and rolls off.

“Get some sleep,” he tells me quietly. I nestle into his side, feeling extremely light for the first time in a while, and close my eyes. When sleep finds me, it’s not nearly as frightening.


	21. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the wonderful feedback guys. I really, really appreciate it. Anyway, this chapter is split into two. ;)

The next time I wake up, Daryl is sleeping soundly beside me. He’s on his back, one arm outstretched under my pillow, the other resting on his stomach. As my mind catches up to my mind, I take a minute to enjoy the moment. What I revealed to him the night before was something that only I ever knew. I’d never had a person to confide in, and part of me is terrified that Daryl might end up running off. No, I chide myself, if he was going to, he would’ve lit out last night. Still, a despondency sits in my gut as I wait for him to wake up.

“Whatcha so tense for?” His voice, heavy with sleep, makes me jump beside him. I glance at him; he’s turned his head to look over at me, one squinty blue eye visible through his dark hair.

“Sorry,” I mutter, throwing an arm over my face. I hear the bed shift as Daryl rolls towards me. His warm hand pulls my arm away and he pins me with a look that tells me he’s not letting this go. “Just…wondering what you’re thinking…about…you know.”

He chews the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrow and giving nothing away. It only worsens the anxious storm within me.

“Ain’t thinkin’ nothin’. Like I said, nothin’s you’ve been through’s gonna make me think of ya any less. Now come on, get up. We need to tell Rick about these men.”

“You didn’t last night?” I ask, furrowing my eyebrows. He shakes his head.

“Rick wanted ta make sure you were okay. Ya gave all of them quite a scare.”

“Yeah, I bet Carol was really concerned,” I scoff sardonically before I can stop it. I sigh. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“’S okay. But yer right… She wasn’t too thrilled seein’ ya comin’ back covered in blood. Said we couldn’t trust ya.”

Doubt swarms me. “No one agreed though…right?”

“Nah. Ya ain’t gotta worry. I think she was kinda shocked when I started fightin’ her.”

“You did?” He hums in reply. “I’m really going to become Deanna’s best friend, aren’t I?”

He hesitates, but agrees. “Ya not really helpin’ ya case.”

“Maybe we can keep yesterday between us. Aaron won’t snitch. I like to think he and I are friends.”

“Ya are, and he won’t say nothin’. Now come on.”

I grumble lowly but throw the blankets off. Daryl shrugs on his vest and his boots and steps out so I can change. I meet him downstairs, where Maggie and Glenn are speaking with Rick and Carl. The former holds Judith in his arms, bouncing her lightly. They all turn towards Daryl and I and a somber atmosphere settles in the room.

“Suppose you want to know about these men,” I start, eying Rick. He nods slowly and hands his daughter off to Carl, who takes her into the living room.

“We need the others,” Rick says, his southern accent clouded in weariness.

“I’ll get them,” Glenn interjects, and then he’s out the door. Rick leans on the island, his blue eyes level with mine. He squints slightly.

“How are you?” he asks. Maggie and Daryl glance at me, the former with something akin to sympathy. I lift my shoulders lazily in a shrug.

“I’m okay. I have to be. What happened yesterday…that doesn’t happen often, I just want to assure you. It was a…situational response. But I’m okay.”

Rick appraises me a moment longer, and I feel like he can see right through me. He nods, a gesture of finality. Suddenly, there’s a commotion in the house as Glenn returns with Abraham, Rosita, Michonne, Aaron, and, to my annoyance, Carol. The grey-haired woman pointedly plants herself at Daryl’s side, like a mother lion protecting her pride. She gazes at me with suspicion, her eyes narrow slits in her head. I do my best to ignore it as Rick begins speaking, asking us what happened the day before, in detail.

“This group, they aren’t friendly, and from what Aaron, Daryl, and Candace tell us, there are more of them. We’re not sure how many, and we’re not sure if they’ll find us. But we need to be prepared if they do.”

“So what do you suggest?” someone asks. Rick stems his hands on his hips, his signature cop stance that’s all business. Then his ice blue eyes find me.

“What do you think, Candace?” he questions, to my surprise. Beside Daryl, Carol scoffs.

“You’re asking her? What’s she know of battle strategies?” she inquires, pinning me with a harsh glare. I straighten my spine, standing stock straight, and meet her eyes squarely. Daryl takes a meager step forward, essentially put himself between us.

“I want to hear her opinion,” Rick shoots back. “Everyone has a voice here. Candace?”

I hesitate, glancing around at the waiting eyes of the group. I nod soundly to myself. “I think we need more intel on this group. We can’t prepare for a threat we don’t understand nor can we just go in and attack their camp. We don’t know if it’s their only one, or how many men they actually have. We need to know more before we can make our next move.”

When I’m done speaking, half the group looks impressed, while the other half looks hesitant to start anything. I can’t blame them. For many of us, Alexandria has truly become a haven, a place where we can start anew and rebuild society. I, myself, have started to feel safe here, though I still have some reservations that come in the shape of a tweedy, curly-haired coward with a grudge. There’s a silence in the room as the others weigh what I’ve suggested.

Abraham is the first to speak. “I think the little lady makes a strong point. Let me be the first to volunteer to scope this new group out.”

“No offense, big guy, but they’ll hear you a mile away,” I retort jokingly with a small smile. There’s a spark in his eyes as he smirks. I turn to Daryl, who’s stayed silent this whole time. “I think Daryl and I should be the ones to stake them out, watch them, find out if they’re all there is. Sorry, Aaron, but I saw the way you looked at them yesterday, and I don’t want to put you in an impossible position.”

“I agree,” Rick interjects. “Two’s a company. Take a couple days, see what you can find out. But first, take a day and rest up completely. You both had a rough day yesterday. We’ll round up some supplies and bring them to you in the morning. Head out at first light.”

With a final nod, Rick and the others, save for Daryl, Carol, and Glenn and Maggie, begin to file out the door. When it’s the five of us, Carol rounds on Daryl.

“You’re going out there again?” she asks, and I barely hold back an eye roll.

“Daryl’s a big boy, he can handle himself,” I mutter, unimpressed, and throw her a look. She pins me with another glare and then widens her eyes as she looks back up at Daryl.

“We gotta know who these people are,” he tells her quietly. It does little to assuage her, and I half expect her to stomp her foot like a child. “We’re gonna be fine.”

Carol looks wholly unconvinced, but she doesn’t push it. “Come back to me.” This time I do roll my eyes and turn to walk out of the kitchen. I head out onto the porch, opting to take a seat on the swing hanging and swinging slowly back and forth. I’m joined moments later by both Maggie and Glenn, who sit on either side of me.

“You be safe out there,” Maggie tells me fiercely, gripping my hand. The weight settles in my chest again and I feel myself nodding.

“Always.”

“We mean it, Candace,” Glenn adds. “Don’t try to be a hero. Just do what you need to do and get out. This isn’t worth your or Daryl’s life.”

“If it keeps the group safe, then I’m going to do it. You guys…I don’t know when it happened but you guys are my family.” I huff an unamused laugh. “It’s funny, you know…I never thought I’d have a family again. But you guys are it. And if going out there, finding those men, is going to keep you all safe, then I’ll gladly do it.”

Maggie smiles wetly at me while Glenn puts an arm around my shoulders, hugging me to his side. Maggie leans her head on my shoulder, and the three of us sit there in silence for a while, until the front door opens and Carol and Daryl finally emerge. I pointedly aim my gaze downwards as Carol storms across the front yard to the house next door. I look up at Daryl from underneath my lashes; he’s watching the older woman, his thumbnail in his mouth in thought.

“Bring her back, Daryl,” Glenn tells him fiercely but calmly. The hunter shoots his eyes to the man beside me, stares for a moment, and nods. Then his eyes dart back to me, and Glenn and Maggie take that as their cue to leave, despite the fact that this is their house too. But they walk off the porch, hand in hand, out into the sunshine to enjoy the day.

Daryl is quick to replace Glenn on my right side, and he pushes us off lightly with his feet. I pull a knee up to my chest and wrap my arms around it, basking in the warmth of the day.

“Ya don’t have to go, ya know,” he says quietly. “Can do it myself.”

“And what if something happens? You’ve got no one to watch your back,” I shoot back, looking over at him. He shrugs briefly, a quick upward jerk of his shoulders. I shake my head. “Not happening. I’m fine, I can handle it. I’m not letting you have all the fun.”

He snorts and slowly, uncertainly, lifts the hand between us to reach over and curl his fingers around mine, eventually entwining them. He waits for a moment, gauging my reaction, before he pulls our hands up to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. My stomach flutters and I feel myself blushing as our hands come down to rest on his denim-clad thigh.

“I meant what I said to them,” I say quietly a few moments later. Daryl glances sidelong at me, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. “I know you were listening. Those elf ears of yours don’t miss a thing. I haven’t had a family for a long time, and it feels…alien, but it isn’t a bad feeling. All of you somehow made me feel like I had a place to belong. Hell, even Gabriel…and Carol…have contributed to that. So really, I should be thanking all of you.”

“Ain’t gotta,” he says, shifting uneasily. I smile sadly at him; he can dish out beautiful truths to anyone but he can’t take hearing them.

“I do. I’m not sure how much longer I would have lasted out there. Yeah, I had Gabriel but…I was barely human, just going through the motions hoping one day I’d have the courage or the cowardice to just eat a damn bullet.” Daryl’s hand tightens around mine and he fixes me with a look so filled with emotion it steals the breath from my lungs.

“Glad ya didn’t.” His words are soft compared to the look in his eyes. I hold his gaze a moment longer before he shifts his eyes elsewhere and nibbles on the skin of his lip. “Ya ain’t gonna ask?”

“Ask? About what?” I pinch my eyebrows together, comprehension lost on me.

“What Carol and I talked about.”

I flush. “Oh. No, I’m not. The private conversations you have with people are your business, and if you feel like sharing then I’m all ears, but I’m not going to grill you every time you’re alone with Carol. That’s not me.”

He glances at me for a long moment before dipping his head. Then those blue eyes meet mine again. “We talked about you.”

I still. “You did?”

He dips his head again. “Told her she’s gotta back off ya, that yer family now as much as I am. Told her I ain’t gonna stand for her attackin’ ya all the damn time.”

My heart swells at Daryl’s coming to my defense. I turn my head away as I feel my eyes mist over a bit, but no tears come and so I look back over at him. He’s looking at his lap—no, our hands, he’s looking at our hands—and a pink flush has taken up residence on his cheeks.

“Thank you, Daryl. I know how much Carol means to you, how close you are, and I don’t want this, between us, to come between the two of you—” His head snaps up.

“It ain’t. She’s family, but she’s gotta learn to move on. Ya ain’t the only one sick of the looks she’s givin’ ya. I ain’t…good…at this, like I said, but I care about ya, and she’s gotta accept that.” He gives me a look that dares me to argue, but I smartly keep my mouth shut and nod.

“I’m hoping these men have moved on,” I murmur after a few beats of silence. My apprehension of encountering this group again has been pushing its way through my mind, and Daryl is the only one I feel confident enough to voice my fears to. I trust the others, but they’re nervous, and I don’t want to contribute to that.

Daryl hums beside me, and that’s all the response I get, but he’s starting dancing his thumb across the back of my hand in comfort. I rise up off the swing and tug our linked hands.

“Come on, I’ll make us something to eat.” I look down at him as he continues to sit, and when he looks up at me, I boldly lean down and press my lips lightly to his for a few moments. He’s frozen in the swing, probably freaking since we’re in view of people, but I can’t find it in me to care. The only thing I care about in this moment is the man in front of me. Somehow he’s wormed his way under my skin, and I won’t let him hide when he so deserves to feel cared for, to feel loved.

He follows me into the house after I’ve pulled away. He takes a seat at the island while I bustle through the kitchen, searching for some kind of hearty meal before our mission tomorrow. I end up with some kind of thick, vegetable stew. As it simmers on the stove, I reach into one of the cabinets for a bottle of wine. It seems appropriate—a nice meal with a wonderful man. I snort before I can stop myself. The idea of a dinner date at the end of the world seems absurd, and yet, here I am.

“Whatcha laughin’ at?” Daryl grouses, folding his arms across his chest. He’s slumped in the chair, his knees spread apart. I smile fondly and shake my head. A corner of his mouth lifts in a small smirk. “Tell me.”

I rake a hand through my hair. “It’s just…this. Cooking dinner, wine, you…I thought dates ended with the world.”

Daryl’s expression sobers and he looks almost embarrassed. “Ain’t never been on one…”

“What, a date?” I frown when he nods. Then I shrug and turn back to the stove. “Doesn’t matter. You’re on one now, so you can cross that off your bucket list.” He snorts behind me, and I smile wryly. I give the stew a quick stir before cracking open the wine with a—lo and behold—corkscrew hidden in one of the drawers. I pour us each a hefty glass and sit at the island. The red wine is tart and fruity, but it’s been so long since I’ve had a drink that I don’t care.

“Tell me something about you, Daryl. Something I don’t know…Which, come to think of it, there’s a lot I don’t know.”

He shrugs, uncomfortable with the attention I’m showing him. “Ain’t much to tell.”

“That’s probably the biggest crock I’ve ever heard.” He glares at me, but there’s no heat behind it. I wait patiently as he chews on his lip, eyes boring into the countertop. “How’d you get so good with your crossbow? And tracking? I’ve never met someone who can track as well as you can.”

He flushes and shrugs again but I pin him with a look that says he better start talking. “Spent a lotta time in the woods as a kid. Parents were never ‘round. Dad was a bastard. Liked to assert himself with his fists after a few. Mostly it was my brother, Merle, but when Merle lit out he started lookin’ at me.”

“Where was your mom during all this?” I ask him, heart bleeding for the pain he’d gone through. A faraway look passes through his eyes and then it’s gone.

“Died when I was little. Fell asleep drunk in bed with a lit cigarette. There was nothin’ left o’ her.”

“I’m so sorry, Daryl.” I reach out for his arm. The muscles are tense beneath his clothing.

“Means she got out. Anyway I taught myself how to track ‘n hunt, got better as I got older.”

“What happened to your dad?”

He shrugs again. “Last I heard he was on some bender and ended up in the hospital. Liver poisoning. Hope the bastard died slowly.”

It’s the first time I’ve heard Daryl utter something so cold with so much conviction, but I can’t find it in me to blame the man. He’s been through hell and back and survived, and he only looks that much stronger in my eyes. I take another long sip of my wine and get up from the chair to plant myself between Daryl’s open thighs. He looks up at me, a haunted darkness lurking in those blue depths, and I bring my hands up to his face.

“You’re a good man, Daryl Dixon,” I tell him confidently. His face flushes, but he doesn’t make a move to pull away. “Despite what you’ve been through, you haven’t lost yourself. You’re the most loyal, caring person I’ve ever met. Don’t lose that. Ever.”

Then I kiss him, hard and fast, and he responds just as fervently. His arms uncross and wind around my waist, pulling me against him as he remains sitting. His hands splay across my back, wandering, exploring, and I let mine tangle in his dark hair, tugging it when his tongue licks across my bottom lip. It pries my mouth open, and I sigh into his mouth when our tongues meet. He’s warm and so inviting, and he tastes like heaven.

He stands, his hands drifting downwards to my ass, where they squeeze, and I gasp, arching into him. My fingers move from his hair to his vest and I peel it from his shoulders. Against my hip I can feel his growing desire for me, and it only fuels the fire burning beneath my skin. He lets me strip him of his vest, and it lands somewhere on the kitchen floor. A burning smell reaches my nose, and at first I think it’s me, but then I remember with a curse. I break away to shut the stove off, dinner forgotten in our moment of passion. Regardless of the nightmare of the night before, regardless of how exposed I’d felt, I need this, and Daryl’s body tells me it needs it just as badly.

There’s no stopping tonight.


	22. Never Ate that Stew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just pure, unadulterated smut and I'm not even sorry. I think these two have had this a long time coming don't you think? Enjoy, you dirty birds.
> 
> P.S. I also have something new that I've been working on, a new Daryl fiction. I'm thinking of posting it maybe some time next week? Keep an eye out!

Once the stove is off, Daryl is on me like a cougar on its prey. An animalistic growl rumbles in his chest as his hands explore me, running from my shoulders to my back and then down to my ass again. He squeezes and suddenly lifts me off the ground. Instinctually, my legs wrap around his waist, and I moan lowly when our groins are aligned. My fingers are deftly working at the buttons of his shirt, though I can feel the muscles in his chest tensing. His lips falter against mine as my fingertips graze his chest.

“Bedroom,” I murmur against his mouth, his hesitance lost on me. My mind is awhirl with the feeling of our bodies pressed against each other, of his mouth assaulting mine. Something snaps in his head and then he’s moving us towards the stairs.

He carries me into our bedroom and dumps me gracelessly on the bed. The top few buttons are undone on his shirt, giving me a delicious view of his broad chest and tanned skin pulled taut over his muscles. The atmosphere around us shifts and suddenly Daryl doesn’t seem so sure of himself. I wonder if it’s me, if I’ve pushed him too far too fast.

My breathing is ragged as I say his name on an exhale. “We don’t, um…we don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to push it…”

He silences me with a firm kiss; he’d moved so fast I barely registered it. When he pulls away his blue eyes are alight with a flame, a flame I put there. That same heat boils in my lower abdomen, burning lower to pool between my legs.

“I want to,” he says gruffly, firmly. The guardedness is back again, though, as his hands come up to finish unbuttoning his shirt. My hands itch to help, but clearly this is something he needs to do. I watch him, body warming as he bares his chest to me. “I want you to see.”

See what, I’m not sure, but once his shirt is off my mind goes out the window. Until he turns around, slowly. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the map that is carved into the skin of his back. Scars of varying sizes litter the skin. One nasty raised scar cuts across a demon tattoo on his back and extends to the other shoulder. My heart aches for the torment this man has been put through, a man so undeserving of it. I reach out and brush my fingertips across one going down his back, and my heart tugs painfully as he flinches. His head is hung in shame, and I slowly rise from the bed, running my hands across the map, tracing it, leaving Daryl a quivering mess beneath my hands.

He stills when I lean forward and begin pressing soft kisses to each and every one of them. I hear him exhale deeply, sounding on the verge of crying. My hands and lips continue their trails until every scar has been shown attention. I wrap my arms around him from behind and lay my cheek against his warm back. He’s still stiff in my arms but he reaches up to clasp my hands against his stomach.

“I could kill the bastard myself,” I murmur against his skin. “This doesn’t change anything, Daryl. You’re still beautiful to me.”

He turns in my arms, finally allowing me to see his face. The emotion I see there nearly makes me want to cry. I reach up to brush his hair out of his face, and his large hands come up to grasp either side of mine. Then our lips meet again, and I’m putty in his hands. He pours every emotion into the kiss, searing me from the inside out. I allow my hands to explore the expanse of his chest, my fingers tangling in the small, coarse dusting of blonde hair on his chest. I trail them lower, down the flat plane of his stomach until they stop at his belt buckle.

“No ya don’t,” he growls. He roughly shoves my shirt up and off my head, tossing it away. He lays us gently on the bed, keeps his weight off me for the moment as he moves his delicious assault to my neck. He nips and kisses and licks and sucks the skin over my pulse point, and I arch against him, writhing with barely controlled need.

He palms one of my breasts over my bra, until he grows impatient and reaches behind me to rid me of the garment. It too joins our growing pile of clothing. Then his hands are back at my breasts, kneading and teasing my nipples until they’re hardened buds. His lips move to one, closing around it and I let out a low moan. My hands splay on his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as the heat in my lower abdomen threatens to burn me alive. I can’t take much more of this, but Daryl continues his torment on my body. With one hand he moves to the snap of my jeans, popping it open and dragging the zipper down at an agonizing pace. His mouth leaves my breast only for the time it takes him to shimmy off my jeans. Then his mouth is showering the opposite nipple with the same attention, and one hand dips into my underwear. He growls against my skin and I mewl as his finger teases my folds.

“Yer soaked, girl,” he says, turning those beautiful blue eyes up to me. I meet his eyes confidently, and it sends a new fire surging through me. At the same time he slips a finger inside of me, his teeth clamp down lightly on my nipple and tug. A cry leaves my mouth as Daryl pumps his finger, curling it up inside me to brush against a bundle of nerves that has my hips rolling to meet his thrust.

His tongue flicks my nipple back and forth, and my legs shake. The want I feel for him is driving me crazy, and when his thumb brushes against my clit, testing it, I nearly lose it.

“Daryl,” I growl, throwing my head back against the pillows as he swirls his thumb in a tantalizing circle. I’m moaning along with his movements as I’m lifted higher and higher, that fire in my belly at a near-scorching temperature.

I close my eyes, letting him continue, until he picks up his movements and I thrust my hips to meet his hand eagerly. The wave gets bigger, closer, and crashes over me so suddenly that I arch up off the bed and cry out his name like a prayer I want to chant for the rest of my life. The power of my orgasm sets my nerve endings on fire, and my hands curl tightly into the bed sheets as Daryl slows his motions.

Before I can come down completely, a puddle of happiness and satiation on the sheets, Daryl shucks the rest of his clothes and rips my panties from my body. I take him in, licking my lips in anticipation as he lines himself up with my entrance. It’s still singing from my orgasm, and I cry out again as he snaps his hips forward and enters me, filling me completely. His eyes are locked on mine as he waits a moment, allowing me to adjust before he begins moving.

He groans as he pulls his hips back, his face coming down to bury in my neck. “God, yer so tight.” I moan at his words, turned on by the fact that Daryl apparently loves dirty talk in bed, and I dig my nails into his back as he moves again.

“God, you feel so good,” I hum in his ear. He groans against my neck and picks up his pace at the same time as he sinks his teeth into my neck. I growl low and swivel my hips to meet his, allowing him to sink deeper inside me.

One of his large hands curls around my thigh and brings it up between us and my leg is thrown over his shoulder. The new angle has us both moaning as Daryl’s hips move faster and harder. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, of our moans and groans, have my hands curling in the sheets again as the fire in my belly reignites. Daryl reaches down to squeeze my ass and tilt my hips upwards, driving him deeper as his own orgasm nears. I bury my face in his neck, wrapping my arms tightly around him. I moan into his skin as my second orgasm crashes over me, sending tremors through my body. My walls clench around Daryl, and moments later, he’s grunting in my ear.

“Gonna come,” he grumbles. “Fuck, I’m gonna…” He growls again as his climax hits, his hips moving erratically. I tighten my walls again, milking him dry, and he slowly ceases his movements. He drops his weight on top of me, though I hardly mind as I’ve been reduced to a quivering, puddled mess of sensations.

“Holy shit,” I breathe, dropping my head against the coolness of the pillow. Daryl shifts so that I can rest my leg on the bed, and he draws slow circles into the skin of my hip. He’s breathing heavily in my ear, and it sends chills down my spine. His head turns and his lips press light, feathery kisses onto my neck, my jaw, my cheek, until he drops a passionate kiss onto my mouth.

He pulls away and merely stares down at me as we try to catch our breath. He brushes sweat-soaked hair off my forehead and leans down to press his forehead to mine.

“Holy shit is right,” he agrees. I can feel him softening inside me, but he keeps us joined as he turns us so that we’re facing each other. He keeps one arm around me as he reaches down for the blankets and pulls them up over us. I tuck my head under his chin and sigh in content as his fingers dance across my back.

It’s silent as we bathe in our afterglow, each of us lost in our own heads. Mine is filled with nothing but happiness, all because the man beside me didn’t give up on me. Tears spring to my eyes and I squeeze them shut, willing them away. He’s saved me, whether he accepts it or not. I was never one to believe in fate or destiny, choosing to believe that each of us made our own destinies, but with Daryl, that’s exactly what it was. The angel’s wings stitched into his vest are far too coincidental, and I take a moment to realize that he is my guardian angel. Someone was looking out for me when they brought him to me.

I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep while locked within the warm confines of Daryl’s body, until he’s kissing me awake.

And it isn’t on my mouth.

I wiggle my body as I awaken fully, though I keep my eyes closed as Daryl continues exploring my nether regions beneath the sheets. My hand snakes under the sheets to tangle in his hair and he pauses, knowing I’m awake now.

“Would’ve liked to be completely awake for that,” I tell him in a breathy voice. He ducks his head again and slides his tongue along my opening, dipping inside of me just a fraction before pulling back.

“Now that I’ve had ya I can’t get enough,” he growls against my center. I groan my reply, rolling my hips to meet his mouth as his lips close around my sensitive nub and suckle. I gasp, arching my back, and open my legs even wider to accommodate him.

“I want to touch you,” I moan, my hands itching to feel his skin under them. He shakes his head, my clit still wrapped in his lips, and the sensations send my nerves into overdrive. “Please.”

“Come for me,” he orders before deftly sliding a finger inside me. He continues with his mouth, teasing, swirling, and adds a crooking motion of his finger that quickly has me coming against his mouth. It’s amazing how well he already seems to know me, know my body, and the thought puts a warmth in my chest.

Daryl wriggles out from under the covers, plopping down beside me, and, in my satiated daze, I roll over and quickly wrap my hand around his length. His breath leaves him sharply, his eyes fluttering closed and his jaw clenching as I quickly find a rhythm. While he’s distracted by my hand, I duck beneath the covers and push on his hips, rolling him to his back.

“Fuck,” he growls as my mouth closes around his head. His hips lift off the bed and one hand comes down on my head, tangling in my hair and following my movements as I bob my head up and down. I hollow my cheeks, taking him in until he hits the back of my throat. “Goddamn, girl, you done this before.”

I chuckle against him, sending vibrations through his dick that make him shudder. I swirl my tongue around his head, dipping the tip into his slit, and he hisses, his hand curling tighter in my hair. With my free hand I cup his balls, rolling them in my hands and his hips move faster against my ministrations. I feel him twitch and I know he’s close. I pull my mouth from him with a pop and quickly move up his body, towering over him as I line myself up with him. He thrusts his hips up at the same time mine come down, and we groan together.

Our pace is set, quick and hard, and right now I’m not worried about getting off. I balance myself with my hands on his chest and roll my hips, bouncing in his lap. His head is thrown back against the pillows, blue eyes watching me, clouded over in lust. He palms my breasts in his large hands, toying with my nipples. He pinches them between two fingers and I bite my lip against a moan. I throw my head back and Daryl’s hands move to my hips, moving me harder over his dick until his movements are stuttered, and he’s groaning my name.

His hips continue to move lazily as he rides out his orgasm, his face pinched in utmost ecstasy. I lean over him and press my lips to his once he stops moving, relaxing into the mattress. He brings up a hand to cup my face, kissing me tenderly.

“Don’t know what I did to deserve ya,” he says quietly. His eyes are closed, as if he’s afraid I’ll laugh at his corniness. But I merely watch him, hoping he can read just how much his words affect me as I coax his eyes open.

“I think you’ve got that backwards,” I whisper. He pulls out of me, spent, and I snuggle down onto his chest, in which I can hear his heartbeat racing. His warm arms enclose around me, keeping me locked in place, and I let our legs tangle together beneath the sheets. He doesn’t reply.

“We’ve got an early day tomorrow,” I murmur a while later. The sun is going down outside our window, and after our romps in the sheets, I’m exhausted. Under me, Daryl shifts and rolls so that we’re facing each other.

“’S gonna be fine,” he promises. I’m locked on his blue gaze, feeling as much at home here as I’ve ever felt around him. “Maybe they’ve moved on.” Neither he nor I really believe they have, but I still nod.

“We never ate that stew,” I say on a laugh. He snorts, rustling the hair on my forehead, and then his lips press tenderly to my hair.

“We’ll have it for breakfast. Get some sleep, girl.” His unconventional nickname has me smiling as I close my eyes, bunking down for the night in the safety of Daryl’s arms.

Not once have I ever felt so at peace, and I’d be foolish if I didn’t admit that I’m scared for tomorrow, scared to see what our actions will bring upon us. I know it’s the reason why I let go of my inhibitions and let Daryl know me in a way no one has in a very long time. I don’t regret it, don’t regret that it may be too fast, but in this world, how much time do either of us really have? It’s that logic that had me throwing caution to the wind, letting go of all the fear, and worry, and anger over this harsh world and letting myself enjoy the company of a man who’s far too good for any of us. I know he doesn’t see it, but the rest of us do, and I can only hope that one day I can open his eyes so that he sees himself the way I see him.


End file.
